With the start of school, we've all had to get used to a new routine. O.K., maybe not Curtis, but the rest of us have. The biggest of which has been actually having a morning routine. From 7 to 8 a.m. we are on a strict schedule of eating, grooming and dressing. Eating, of course, is nothing new, but grooming and dressing are taking some getting used to. During the summer, it was not unusual for Michael to stay in his jammies all day, although by noon he'd usually end up with just the top on because someone was too lazy to put his pants back on after a diaper change. It's the quintessential white trash uniform: dingy shirt and saggy diaper, nothing else. Hee Haw. Although I know that the model of a "private school parent" is a pinnacle I will never reach, I am still not quite comfortable with totally giving up and driving through the car-pool line with Mike in his pajamas sporting a pee-filled diaper bulging out either side of his car seat crotch strap. So, along with King, Mike and I are fully dressed and somewhat presentable when it's time to leave.
As we head out the door, I remind King to grab his backpack. Feeling like such a big boy these days, Mike decided that he needs to bring a backpack, too. He calls it a "back-k", pronouncing the "k" twice. I don't know if he is trying to say backpack and is skipping the "pa" sound, or if he is trying to say "bag", or if he is trying to say "back" and is just making doubly sure he gets the "k" sound right. He has commandeered one of Kings old backpacks, which is a ratty Thomas the Tank Engine rolling bag.
When Mike and I return home, instead of heading for the door, Mike grabs his back-k and starts cruising down the driveway: he wants to go for a walk in the park. I started this "routine" on the first day back at school. We take the dog for a walk in the park. It's a good time to go, 8:30 a.m., before it gets too hot; and it is a step in the right direction in my efforts to get the dog to stop peeing on the carpet, but I'm just not so sure I want to do it every day. But Mike is sure and he must bring his back-k to the park with him. He drags that thing all around the park, huffing and puffing, like some airline traveller who parked in the super-economy lot and must hoof it three miles to the terminal. In case you can't get a good mental picture of this at home, here's a photo of the boy and his back-k. I made him wear the "hot pants" for my own personal amusement.