Unlike every other kid in the world, Mark doesn't really understand the whole behaving-before-Christmas idea. Most kids act better at Christmas, but not Mark. As each day rolls closer, his behavior actually gets worse. Seriously, it's a miracle that Mark gets any presents at all on Christmas.
His morning routine also takes a hit. The closer it gets to Christmas vacation, the harder it is to get Mark out of bed for school. He's like a reverse daylight savings time--instead of gaining a minute of daylight each day as the year goes on, Mark loses a minute each morning.
Yesterday was no exception.
"Time to get up," I said at 7:10 a.m., rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "You've got band practice in half an hour."
I reached to turn his radio on and he screeched like a banshee.
"No radio!" he yelled. "Keep it off! I'm getting up, geez!"
I turned silently and walked out of the room. I've been fighting this all month, and I was officially done.
"Give me a minute to wake up!" he spat as I walked away.
Thirty minutes later, I peeked back in the room. He was still in bed, hiding deep under the covers.
"You have class in ten minutes," I said. There was no response.
He knew he was in big trouble, because when I got out of the shower, he was dressed, fed, and making his bed. I didn't say a word.
At 8:30, I finally spoke.
"The umbrella I gave you last week," I said. "Is it still in your backpack?"
"I dunno," he said in his snottiest tone. "Who knows where it is?"
"Hmm," I said. "Do you have a jacket with a hood?"
"THIS is my jacket," he said, tugging at his sweatshirt. Then he realized where this was all heading and he asked, "Aren't you driving me to school?"
"Nope," I said, in my saddest voice. "I was ready to go at 7:10 and 7:40. Now I'm working."
"But it's raining!" he protested.
"I know," I said. "That's why I asked if you had an umbrella or a jacket."
He stared at me angrily for a moment, then grabbed his backpack. He pointed at his sweatshirt again, and repeated, "This is my jacket." He looked out at the rain, then back at me, daring me to let my only child walk to school in the rain.
And that's when I realized the little stinker doesn't know me nearly as well as he thinks he does.
"Have a good day," I told him.
"I will," he said. He glared at me for one more minute, then stomped toward the front door, daring me to let him go out into the rain.
"Wait!" I called.
He stopped and turned, smiling, victorious.
"Take this out with you," I said, handing him the kitchen garbage bag. "It's trash day today."
He stared at me, incredulous, then snatched the bag, turned and this time, really stomped out the door.
And I just smiled, the same way my mom did when bratty 12-year-old me hurled empty threats at her, I'm sure. I watched my darling (but angry) son stomp though the rain to the sidewalk.
"I'll show her!" his angry gait said.
And I just smiled, standing there in the house, warm, dry and trying not to laugh. I thought the same thing as Mark, with a slight twist.
Wow, I thought. He sure showed me.
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