Drill Sergeant wannabe

I think I would have made an excellent drill sergeant.

My poor husband and kids experience the home version of boot camp pretty much daily, especially now that we’re on a tight time schedule and still trying to get into a routine.

Aidan! Get your shoes on.

Noah! Brush your teeth.

Kezi! Pick up your pajamas.

Hurry up, kids. We leave in 3 and a half minutes!

John! Grab the keys, we have to go now.

Hup, two, three, four, Hup, two, three, four!

FORWARD...MARCH!

The only problem is, no matter how authoritatively I bark my commands, nobody responds with military precision and efficiency.

Aidan wanders to the coat rack and puts on his jumper instead of his shoes...well, at least he’s getting something on.

Noah totally ignores me in his quest to find the charger for his gameboy.

Kezi just looks at me and sucks her fingers.

And John picks up his book and disappears into the bathroom.

FORWARD...HALT!

So I run around barking more orders, getting in people’s faces, grabbing shoulders and steering little ones to where I want them to be. I don’t go anywhere near John and the bathroom. Slowly by slowly the chores get done, the family members get organized, and we get out of the house.

Then the race is on to get the kids up over the hillside to nearby Fish Hoek in time for school. Here comes a school-run mom on a brand new course in a BIG truck...outta my way! I still don’t know the area really well, so I race up and down side streets until I find the right one. Ooops...took that corner a little too sharply and ran the back tire up on the curb...3 kids’ heads bounce off the roof of the truck. Oh well, no blood. Onward, soldiers!

There it is...my freedom! Bay Primary School. Boot the kids out of the truck...”Come on, guys, out you get. Come on!” Drop ‘em off, quick wave, and I’m off. Yes!

Not that I don’t love ‘em...‘course I do. But my sanity has been severely stretched after 11 days in the car with them and not one minute of alone time. I have a lot of catching up to do!

Besides, their lack of response to my drill sergeant orders is wearisome, and I get tired of repeating myself, getting louder, issuing threats.

Maybe I need to get a whistle.