Cheers to no drop off lines!
Hola faithful Wild Boy followers, and welcome back to another week at La Casa de Testosterone! Weird side note, I think most of you are family and friends, but according to my Google stats there are a healthy amount of readers logging in from China and Russia to be horrified by the amazingly low parenting standards here in Northern California. So, to my international readers, please don't judge Nor Cal on my parenting...I'm actually way cooler than the bulk of the other hippie parents. Just kidding. But not really.
Anyhow, this week finds the wild boys adapting to summer vacation while I adapt to my summer work schedule. During the school year I'm forced to work five days a week, eight hour shifts, so I can drop the boys off at school in the morning. As much as I hate working five days a week, I hate the school drop off line even more. The wild boys go to school literally a mile from my work, and even closer to the cop's station. This is supposedly for convenience, but in reality it's largely due to the hope that our proximity to the school and friendliness with the administration would help minimize the "we need to talks" at the afternoon pick ups. Some days it works, some days I get texts from their principal before lunch. But I digress. You'd think if I got to the drop off line a mile from my work ten minutes before I had to be at work I'd be cool. But you'd be wrong. The wild boys are always game for my "tuck and roll" approach to school in the morning but we have received specific instructions that this is not allowed and I have to bring the car to a complete stop. Kinda takes the fun and challenge right out of it if you ask me, but this is why this next generation is softer than we are. Everyone gets a trophy and nobody leaps from slowly rolling vehicles. We have a long list of other instructions at well, such as traffic from all three side streets must be allowed to enter between each car on the main street, busses must have the right of way, your children may only exit on the passenger side, and they can only exit the car at the allotted space directly in front of the school. This is apparently to ensure that I have to endure the crossing guard making comments like "Good morning boys - I see mom is spending your college money on a new car huh?" Anyhow, the drop off time is inversely proportional to the amount of time I have left before I have to be at work. For example, if I have fifteen minutes the line will be nonexistent, but I'll get the lecture about dropping too early. If I go ten minutes early the line will take fifteen minutes, and if I go five minutes early the line will take twenty minutes, at least one fender bender will occur, usually a child will get tangled up or drop a school project getting out in the drop off zone, two busses will block my access to actually leave the drop off zone, and I'll arrive to work with my hair standing on end and ready to either injure the first person that asks about it or cry into a warm mug of coffee and contemplate going off the grid.
So summer is my best friend. Ever. Because no matter where I take the boys for the day, there is no drop off line. Also, not having to be at school allows me to work four days a week, ten hour shifts. This was my life before elementary school, and it's a glimpse of how nice things will be when the boys are old enough to get places on their own. So, maybe twenty years from now, if their current abilities are any indication of what's to come. As I sit here typing the boys have maintained a steady conversation behind me about which one should technically have to stand up and walk the five feet to the kitchen to determine if that noise they hear is actually the dog on the counter. Spoiler alert, it is. See, the cop is on graveyard shifts and he likes to surprise the wild boys with donuts on weekend mornings. The dog is 100% cop dog, and can smell a donut from miles away. She has waited patiently for the boys to be distracted and walk away from that box, and I have no doubt she has filched at least two of those bad boys by now. The first time this happened it was five donuts, and the box was left UNMOVED on the counter. It was like the scene from Anchorman, "I'm not even mad - that's AMAZING!" Although I did have to do several hours of research to determine how many of the donuts were chocolate (phone call to cop - which donuts were in the box?, followed by questioning of kids - which ones did you already eat?, followed by mass internet research on the amount and type of chocolate that goes into frosting donuts and how much is toxic to thieving dogs...) all while the dog laid to the side belching and snoring contentedly. So the joke is on the wild boys, because they are going to be super angry when they realize they lost out on donuts and they get to clean up the mess. Meanwhile, I'm going to take the dog for a walk. The only thing worse then weighing in at my own doctor appointments is hearing her vet say "typically we like it if we can tell where their ribs are..."
Until next time, cheers to no drop off lines and three day weekends from La Casa de Testosterone!
Anyhow, this week finds the wild boys adapting to summer vacation while I adapt to my summer work schedule. During the school year I'm forced to work five days a week, eight hour shifts, so I can drop the boys off at school in the morning. As much as I hate working five days a week, I hate the school drop off line even more. The wild boys go to school literally a mile from my work, and even closer to the cop's station. This is supposedly for convenience, but in reality it's largely due to the hope that our proximity to the school and friendliness with the administration would help minimize the "we need to talks" at the afternoon pick ups. Some days it works, some days I get texts from their principal before lunch. But I digress. You'd think if I got to the drop off line a mile from my work ten minutes before I had to be at work I'd be cool. But you'd be wrong. The wild boys are always game for my "tuck and roll" approach to school in the morning but we have received specific instructions that this is not allowed and I have to bring the car to a complete stop. Kinda takes the fun and challenge right out of it if you ask me, but this is why this next generation is softer than we are. Everyone gets a trophy and nobody leaps from slowly rolling vehicles. We have a long list of other instructions at well, such as traffic from all three side streets must be allowed to enter between each car on the main street, busses must have the right of way, your children may only exit on the passenger side, and they can only exit the car at the allotted space directly in front of the school. This is apparently to ensure that I have to endure the crossing guard making comments like "Good morning boys - I see mom is spending your college money on a new car huh?" Anyhow, the drop off time is inversely proportional to the amount of time I have left before I have to be at work. For example, if I have fifteen minutes the line will be nonexistent, but I'll get the lecture about dropping too early. If I go ten minutes early the line will take fifteen minutes, and if I go five minutes early the line will take twenty minutes, at least one fender bender will occur, usually a child will get tangled up or drop a school project getting out in the drop off zone, two busses will block my access to actually leave the drop off zone, and I'll arrive to work with my hair standing on end and ready to either injure the first person that asks about it or cry into a warm mug of coffee and contemplate going off the grid.
So summer is my best friend. Ever. Because no matter where I take the boys for the day, there is no drop off line. Also, not having to be at school allows me to work four days a week, ten hour shifts. This was my life before elementary school, and it's a glimpse of how nice things will be when the boys are old enough to get places on their own. So, maybe twenty years from now, if their current abilities are any indication of what's to come. As I sit here typing the boys have maintained a steady conversation behind me about which one should technically have to stand up and walk the five feet to the kitchen to determine if that noise they hear is actually the dog on the counter. Spoiler alert, it is. See, the cop is on graveyard shifts and he likes to surprise the wild boys with donuts on weekend mornings. The dog is 100% cop dog, and can smell a donut from miles away. She has waited patiently for the boys to be distracted and walk away from that box, and I have no doubt she has filched at least two of those bad boys by now. The first time this happened it was five donuts, and the box was left UNMOVED on the counter. It was like the scene from Anchorman, "I'm not even mad - that's AMAZING!" Although I did have to do several hours of research to determine how many of the donuts were chocolate (phone call to cop - which donuts were in the box?, followed by questioning of kids - which ones did you already eat?, followed by mass internet research on the amount and type of chocolate that goes into frosting donuts and how much is toxic to thieving dogs...) all while the dog laid to the side belching and snoring contentedly. So the joke is on the wild boys, because they are going to be super angry when they realize they lost out on donuts and they get to clean up the mess. Meanwhile, I'm going to take the dog for a walk. The only thing worse then weighing in at my own doctor appointments is hearing her vet say "typically we like it if we can tell where their ribs are..."
Until next time, cheers to no drop off lines and three day weekends from La Casa de Testosterone!
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