A few days ago Brady’s morning started as usual… “Eat some breakfast – that includes your fruit. Change your clothes. Brush your teeth. Get your shoes. Go to the potty…”
Yadda, Yadda, Yadda. Try as I may, I know I sound like a nag on school mornings. I don’t intend it, but getting out of the house with two fed, clothed, and cleaned children is still something I’m not sure I’ve mastered.
So here I am, bustling about, slightly stressed and kind of annoyed that while Brady is up and moving as requested, Parker sits like a rock on the couch – three minutes before we need to leave for school.
Brady comes to me, wraps his arms tightly around my waist and hangs on. I hug him back, though I admit it was one of those condescending quick-squeeze types.
Yadda, Yadda, Yadda. Try as I may, I know I sound like a nag on school mornings. I don’t intend it, but getting out of the house with two fed, clothed, and cleaned children is still something I’m not sure I’ve mastered.
So here I am, bustling about, slightly stressed and kind of annoyed that while Brady is up and moving as requested, Parker sits like a rock on the couch – three minutes before we need to leave for school.
Brady comes to me, wraps his arms tightly around my waist and hangs on. I hug him back, though I admit it was one of those condescending quick-squeeze types. He clings tighter. I try to pry his arms open, and he responds by hugging me as tight as his little 43 pound body can.
“Brady, could you please let me go of me?” I ask.
“I can’t help it. Mommy, you are just so beautiful that I can’t let go.”
Dropping to my knees so I could snuggle him whole-heartedly, I didn’t care if we were late to school.
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