Plans!  Mice!  Men!  NOOOOOW!

Translated from the language I found myself speaking this morning, that is, “The best laid [plans] of mice and men often go awry.”

Mornings are difficult in my house.  Probably so in the house of everyone with children.  Thor is a normal child, so he is a dawdler, daydreamer, and slowpoke.  Thinking back, though I cannot remember thinking myself slow (only careful and curious), I remember very, very well my mother’s frustration with me every morning.  I am sorry that Thor will have similar memories.  I am glad that I have not succumbed to the temptation to box his ears, or chase him out the door with the backside of a hairbrush.

This morning, after he had pushed the putting on of socks past the five minute mark (he had his hand in one sock and was talking to it like a puppet, sidetracked from his purpose) I completely forgot that I had resolved to stop bellowing.  Since he was not responding to my, “Thor, get your socks on.  Put your socks on now,” I fell into an apoplectic speech pattern recognized by parents all over the world.  It happens at that point that your head pops off your neck like a cartoon train whistle and steam blows out of your ears.  It’s like Cliff’s Notes for talking to a child.

“Put your socks on now,” becomes, “Socks!  On!  Now!!!”

Who needs verbs?  Articles?  Pronouns?  Not elementary school children, that’s for sure.

I think when I am talking to him, he hears, “Put your wamp wamp wamp wamp wamp wamp wamp, Thor!  Wamp wamp wamp, Thor, wamp wamp wamp shoes wamp wamp.”  So, it seems prudent to speak Cavemom and just hit the highlights with urgency, fervency, and that one vein bulging in my temple.

B sniffed at me this morning, that because I had the news on television, Thor was going to be slow.  He was distracted by the tv.  Ha!  I have tried with the house silent.  Then, he just entertains himself.  He talks to his socks–he makes a puppet and talks to the sock puppet.  Or, he checks out his feet. Hey! Toenails!  Or he is a spy and his shoes might have explosives in them, so he has to put them on very, very slowly in order to avoid triggering the devices (yes, he’s watched too much Chuck.)  Or he stares at the ceiling.  Or, when he should be brushing his teeth, he stares at his own reflection making faces instead.  When he is eating his cereal, he’ll eat a couple of bites, drift off into daydream and forget he’s eating, and sit there with his spoon lifted, eyes in middle distance, smiling as he ninja battles Autobots, or whatever it is he is doing in that head.  The boy just has better things to do, and does not understand the urgent need to put on clothes he’d rather not wear, to go to a place he’d just as soon not go.  What’s the rush?  Procrastination is strong in this one.

According to his grandparents, this is absolutely genetic–and a double dose of it, no less.

I’m going to have to figure out a way around this, though, because I don’t see it getting better in the teen years, do you?  Maybe a cattle prod?