The irony is not lost on me that the week after I’ve found genius ways to make my mornings less manic that I’m about ready to throw in the towel and send a sock-free child with unbrushed teeth and no hat to school. With the exception of Monday morning (which was a breeze, you guys) I have yelled, cajoled, pleaded and fought back tears to get us out the door on time. And F is having none of it.

First, it was the sock debacle. Then it was the sweater debate. I’ve never met a kid who hated socks and sweaters so much, and I would never have believed that the absence of either on my kid’s body would cause me to completely unravel at 7:55 am on a Wednesday. But there you have it.

It’s been a big change for him, going to big boy school, and I’m trying to be mindful of all he’s coping with. But with grade primary, it seems, comes big attitude.

It  doesn’t help that I’m practically overflowing with work right now, making our evenings pretty crappy. The only real one-on-one time we had in the evenings this week has been the 30 minutes before bedtime reading, and the 30 minute walk home from the after school care centre (once time). It’s not that I’m avoiding him or away from him the rest of the time, but sitting on the same couch doesn’t constitute spending time together so much as occupying the same space.

I’m in bed by the time I remember that I forgot to make my lunch and pack F’s snacks. I’m waking up in the morning remembering that I didn’t check the communication log in F’s schoolbag. I’m sitting at work remembering that I left a load of laundry in the washing machine. Again.

And now I guess I need to go buy some vinegar so I can rewash those socks and sweaters F doesn’t want to wear anyway.