A MORNING ROUTINE WHEN MY HUSBAND IS OUT OF TOWN FOR WORK AND I MUST GET MY KID TO SCHOOL BY 8 AM SHARP.

7:04 AM

I’m in bed. Usually my husband wakes up first and opens the curtains (“Good morning, Your Majesty”), but he’s not there. The 9yo’s footsteps wake me as he heads to the bathroom.

The toilet lid slams shut because we don’t have a toilet lid with soft close hinges. Apparently it’s an easy fix, but I don’t know how to use a screwdriver.

7:11 AM

I roll over to my right and open the drawer of my white IKEA nightstand. I rummage through the various pill bottles. I find my Synthroid 0,125 mg bottle and take one. I sit up, drowsy, and slide my feet into my leopard print flip flops.

7:12 AM

I join the 9yo in the living room. He’s watching cartoons on Netflix. I kiss him and say the same thing every morning: Allo mon bébé/comment ça va/as-tu fait un beau dodo/qu’est-ce que tu veux manger pour déjeuner.

I will never stop calling him my baby. Even when he’s forty.

7:14 AM

He wants a bowl Shreddies. I try to not feel guilty/weird about serving him cereal in the morning, because cereal has sugar in it and I’m an awful mother for feeding his developing brain a couple of spoonfuls of sugar before school.

7:16 AM

I make the 9yo’s lunch. I use a bento box style lunch box because it’s simpler. My job is to fill the compartments. A basic végé pâté sandwich in the square compartment. Baby cucumber in the rectangular compartment. A yogurt tube from last week’s post-orthodontist Happy Meal. Two cookies (I decide sugar is part of life). Done.

7:25 AM

I tell the 9yo it’s time to turn off the TV.

7:26 AM

I tell the 9yo it’s time to turn off the TV.

7:27 AM

I tell the 9yo it’s time to turn off the TV.

7:28 AM

I tell the 9yo it’s time to turn off the TV.

7:30 AM

I yell.

7:32 AM

I get dressed (temporary outfit, anything but my nightgown) and wonder why I allow TV in the morning.

7:40 AM

The 9yo is dressed. I question his choice of socks. He’s wearing knee high football socks rolled down to his ankles. He says they’ll keep him warm. I say they’ll make his feet smell. He says he doesn’t care. I explain why cotton is better because it allows skin to breathe. He says synthetic fibers keep him cooler.

We have this debate discussion every morning. I wonder what his teenage years will look like.

7:41 AM

I guide the 9yo to the bathroom to brush his teeth. I see my reflection in the mirror. Yikes. I have deep circles under my eyes. My face is puffy. It doesn’t bounce back in the morning like it used to. I still have sheet creases on my cheek. I’m getting older.

7:48 AM

The 9yo tells me to hurry up, we’re going to be late. I’m shocked at how quickly time passes when you obsess over your face.

7:50 AM

We leave for school.

7:52 AM

The air is crisp. The 9yo pretends he’s a dragon, slowly exhaling his frosty breath. I regret not wearing a toque even though it isn’t winter yet. There’s a breeze. Cool wind gives me ear cramps.

We deliberately step on fallen leaves. Nature’s confetti. We stomp. We enjoy the crispy feeling under our feet.

7:56 AM

We cross a busy intersection on our way to school. I hate that street corner. We hold hands. I want to hold his little hand forever.

7:58 AM

We walk past McDonald’s. The 9yo asks if we can have some for supper. I say no and remind him about his special treat the previous week after his orthodontist appointment. I’d booked an appointment during his school lunch hour, thinking we’d have enough time to eat at home before returning to school. The appointment ran longer than expected and we got stuck in traffic. So he ate a cheeseburger in the car.

7:59 AM

We make it to the school gates.

I kiss the 9yo. I say the same thing every drop-off: Bye mon bébé/passe une super belle journée/on se voit tantôt. We hug.

He walks over to the entrance. Before disappearing into the school yard, he does the same thing every morning. He looks back one last time and waves.

I wave back.

8:00 AM

The school bell rings.