This morning started out like any other.  I wake up and go to try and get the boys out of bed.

Let’s stop right there. Why is it on school days I have to drag them out of bed, but every day over the long holiday weekend they were out of bed before the sun came up?

Anyway, back to today. We’re up, oatmeal is being made for breakfast.  Boys are regaling me with tales of what Harry Potter was doing last night (apparently forgetting that it was me that read it to them…) and we’re sipping our orange juice.  Dog is out, dog is in.  Oatmeal is ready.  My toast is cooking.  Boys are at the table joking about whose oatmeal tastes better.  Nature calls.

I step around the corner, do my thing and come back.  C is now sitting at the table crying.  M is looking as confused as I feel.  I get C calmed to the point where he can talk. “Son,” I begin, “what’s wrong?”

“Gym class!” is the explosive response.  The tears begin again.

I am now more baffled than before.  Indeed, today is gym day, the morning when no uniforms need to be ironed.  We wear sneakers to school!  We run around like maniacs at school! What’s wrong with gym day?

My mind immediately goes into overdrive.  Maybe he isn’t athletic, can’t do what the other boys do?  Do they make fun of him?  Are those little shits mean to my son? Why doesn’t the school do anything about it?

I take a deep breath and return to the current reality. “What’s wrong with gym class?”

“It’s the last class of the day!  I have to wait all day!”

Oh.  And all this before my first cup of coffee…