The year my son started Kindergarten, I would set the alarm for 5:45am and get completely dressed with full make-up and hair done with big hot rollers. I would dress in the outfit I’d carefully chosen the night before, then wake the precious lamb and prepare whole-wheat, made-from-scratch pancakes, shaped like teddy bears, with a sprinkling of blueberries I had picked myself. The syrup came from my great uncle’s cane grinding the previous Thanksgiving. My darling’s lunchbox held a dinosaur shaped sandwich, healthy fruit, homemade cookies from the secret family recipe shaped like the space shuttle (I was big on shaped-theme foods), and of course a note telling him how much mama loved him. His school clothes were pressed and his red hair sharply parted and slicked down so he looked like Opie. I would walk him to the door of the classroom, kiss him goodbye, and in the afternoons, he would leap into my arms, so happy to see his mommy.
About that time, I remember talking to some women who had high school children and they mentioned how terrible their mornings were, with no one being able to find anything, the toast being burned and everyone banging on the bathroom door. I was relieved my house ran like a well oiled machine and everyone had their act together for the most perfect of all Norman Rockwell mornings.
Fast forward to third grade. I was able to back the alarm up to around 6:15, because, really now, who likes to shower so early? I’d throw on something cute, but sometimes it was what I’d had on the day before, then do my hair – if you consider a ponytail, “doing” your hair. Lipstick and mascara was all I had time for before we . . . click HERE to finish the story at al.com