I had great plans for Monday’s school. I generally have a love-hate relationship with Monday–love, for new beginnings; hate, for the unpredictable failings lurking closely, sniffing my best-laid plans for a positive, successful day.
I had my breakfast of Greek yogurt drizzled with olive oil sans pita bread–leftovers from the “Sweet Sixteen” party a few days earlier–and I was getting ready for the start of the school day. On my second cup of my requisite green tea, I hear a loud commotion emanating from the upstairs hallway. Just then, drummer boy pounds mightily down the stairs exclaiming, rather indignantly, that his brother, driver boy, has stolen all of his “assigned” underwear. Seriously?
Neither had managed to get themselves any breakfast, and I had lots of school work waiting on them. These boys, who once apparently loved each other, and whereby I have boxfuls of photographs to substantiate such a claim, had reached a new low.
After depositing all of their underwear onto the floor, I followed the First Law of Kaukab. I collected said underwear, pounded down the stairs, and deposited them into the kitchen trash; whereby, driver boy, in a fit of anguish, pounded down the stairs, pronouncing that he was going to fish out all of his underwear and take them to the basement laundry.
Eventually, we had school. The boys, however, forfeited breakfast time–thus, neglecting the Second Law of Kaukab, that all must be fed breakfast.
An interesting pattern I seem to like repeating.