And Now for Something Completely Different

At your service, Boss.

Alright, Planet Kay Nou.  You all have been very patient reading my rants about how difficult mornings with our Caribbean prince always are can be.  At a minimum, I hope you have enjoyed a chuckle or two on me.

Here’s something new → This morning Island Boy and I had a wonderful experience.

I had a glimpse of how good things can be.

Dare I say it?  Could this be a peak into the future?

Holy Mackerel!

Tuesday mornings suck are somewhat challenging.  It’s ski club night, folks.  Great, right?

Actually it’s only great for Subway Dude and The Fashionista.  They get to ski.  Running Girl and I get to chauffeur and act as ski couriers.

I used to ski on Tuesday nights.  I would join my gang of 10 or so who have been skiing together for many years.

However, since the arrival of a certain Haitian-to-be-named-later, I have not been able to join my ski cronies while school ski club is ongoing.

It’s a matter of logistics: one adult has to pick up two kids from two different locales at two different times.  The other adult has to stay home to put Island Boy to bed.  Personally, I think the former is much easier than the latter despite horrible weather and the fact that it takes almost an hour and half to gather the troops and get them home.  Fortunately for me, Running Girl feels the opposite is true.  It works out nicely this way.

Anyhow, the night shift is the easy part.  Mornings are much tougher.

Running Girl takes Subway Dude, his skis and The Fashionista to the high school (where TF takes an AP course for the first period of the school day).

I have to rouse Island Boy from his rack, get him dressed and out the door in time.  We then travel with TF’s skis to the middle school.  I must then find a parking space (not easy), get IB and the skis out of the vehicle, and bring them inside.  The ski club advisor (TF’s social studies teacher) thinks I’m a super parent.  Not true.  A super parent would do this cheerfully.

In case you haven’t pick up on this yet, kids are not allowed to bring skis on the school bus.  Something about stupid safety rules.  Give me an F’in break.  What could really happen?

Piece of cake, right?  Not so much.  In case you’re new to Kay Nou, Island Boy can be a little…oppositional at times.

For some reason that only The Almighty and Tom Cruise know the back story to, this morning Island Boy decided to play ball.

When I went into his room this morning at about 6:30, Island was still snoring away, cozy as could be in his rockin’ cool bed.

I awoke him in stages.  This process is similar to and just as perilous as the procedure that they use at nuclear plants to cool off spent uranium tie rods.

Good Morning, Island Boy. It's time to get up.

When he had reached a sufficient stage of semi-consciousness, I said to him in my gentlest voice: “Good morning, Island.  Do you want to go out for breakfast?”

IB opened one eye.  He looked at me suspiciously.

“I wanna watch TV,” he stated emphatically.

“Not today, Pal,” I said cautiously.  “We have to bring your sister’s skis to school.  Remember?”

Tigers love pepper. They hate cinnamon.

I felt like Stu in that scene from The Hangover where he has to bring the steak in to the tiger.

He paused to consider my counter-offer.  I swear he brought his hand up to his chin and looked skyward like a grizzled, old prospector considering the price just offered him for his precious nugget of gold.

“Okay,” he said in a tone that clearly conveyed that he was doing me a solid.

Got dressed easily → Went out the door and into the car with no shenanigans → Found a parking space at school with no problems → Dropped off skis and got out of there with no major entanglements.

At breakfast, Island Boy was Noel Freaking Coward.

We smiled at each other.  He ate every bite.  Il n’y a pas de quoi.

As he finished eating, he looked at me and said, “I want to go to school now.”

Where’s the catch?

Has Allen Funt come back to life?  Is there a hidden camera somewhere recording this?

He even started to put on his coat.

At this point, I began searching for pods.  Obviously, my obstreperous and ornery child had been replaced.

At Pre-K, he gave me a kiss and skipped off blithely to class.

My pie hole was wide open in disbelief.


Robert Zimmerman aka Zimmie aka Bob Dylan has been known to remark that no matter how exalted you are, you have serve someone.

I am fortunate.  I know exactly who I am here to serve.  I worked very hard to get into this situation, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But, this was a keyhole into how great it could be.  And it was really nice.

— The Major


4 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by lisa on February 8, 2011 at 10:54 pm

    Sounds like a lovely morning!


  2. Posted by Gail on February 8, 2011 at 10:56 pm

    LOVE this story! (You must have fun picking those photos. You had me practically rolling on the floor with laughter at “Holy Mackerel!”)


  3. Missed your opportunity, Major–you should have bought a lottery ticket!


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