On some mornings, I don’t get out of bed before Simon leaves for school. I don’t demand that he brush his hair. I don’t pick out his clothing. I yell from my bed to his room that it’s time for him to get up. I snooze and give orders from my comfy sheets while I wait for Daddy to come home and take over. (I know, Mom. I can see your disapproving look all the way here in Lawrence. I promise to get up tomorrow.) I don’t make a warm, toasty breakfast every day. (Okay, fine. I never make a warm and toasty breakfast. Unless adding milk to the oatmeal before I stick it in the microwave counts.) I don’t tie his shoes or pack his backpack. I don’t brush his teeth for him, monitor his shower, or wipe his butt either.
So when his school picture (re-takes, no less) comes home looking like this, I have no one else to blame but myself.
Behold, my beautiful son! I really wasn’t trying to neglect the ratty child by sending him to school in a faded and old t-shirt. Thank goodness the rest of his shirt is cut off. Underneath the word ‘Hockey’ is an open mouthed, teeth gnawing hockey puck. CLEARLY, this was not an appropriate shirt for picture day. And should we even talk about his hair? Obviously it hasn’t been brushed (or CUT for that matter) in months. The split bangs in the middle is my favorite part.
However, I claim no responsibility for the teeth. It can’t be helped.
The icing on the cake, if you will, is that if you look very closely, you can even see the remains of an old, blue tattoo on his upper cheek. Indisputable fact that the kid hasn’t bathed in decades either.
It’s apparently evident that somebody needs to come and take care of this child.
Interested applicants must not be afraid to fight about clothing choices ever, be able to KEEP AN ORGANIZED CALENDAR OF SCHEDULED EVENTS, can yield a hairbrush against unruly hair, and (most importantly) be willing to get out of bed before 7:30 am.