What You don’t Understand If You’ve Never Gotten a Kid Ready for School on a Winter Morning

School mornings are intense.

I wake the boys up at 6:30. There isn’t a lot of time. They have to be outside to wait for the bus by 7:20.

While they stretch, yawn and drag themselves from their warm cocoons, I fix them a quick breakfast: cereal, toast, scrambled eggs or microwave pancakes. Then they brush their teeth, comb their hair and throw on some clothes. That’s an upside of having boys. Their morning routine is pretty low maintenance.

I keep time with the clock, hurrying them along when needed, while making sure lunches, papers, and books are all in the backpacks. I double-check things like, “Did you put deodorant on? Did you change your underwear? Are you wearing underwear?” The five-year-old has an affinity for going commando.

They grab jackets, backpacks and they’re out the door. Boom!

I’m breathless and feel like I just ran a 5K.

That’s on a fall or spring morning.

But then winter hits. It gets cold. The snow flies. We add an extra 10 minutes, 20 on a bad day, worth of putting on outer wear to fortify against the chill and ice. Yet there aren’t an extra 10 or 20 minutes unless we turn the alarm back, and they’re even slower than usual to get out of bed now that it’s chilly and dark in the morning.

First, the snow pants go on. They’re big and bulky and have elastic at the bottom of the legs that make it impossible for anyone under the age of seven to put on easily. Then they can’t find the straps that go on over the shoulders. They’re lost somewhere behind their back. Finally on, their shirt gets stuck in the zipper in a haste to make up lost time.

Now the boots. Where are the boots? WHERE. ARE. THE. BOOTS! Panic ensues. If you show up for school without boots on a snowy day, you’re exiled to the sidewalk for all of recess like a pariah. And what kind of parent lets their kid go to school in Michigan in January without boots? It doesn’t bode well for your position in the PTA.

“Here’s one by the door. How did this one end up under the couch? I’m sorry it’s damp inside. You have to wear them. Put them over the vent in the mud room next time instead of storing them in the living room.”

Next, coats. The arms are inside out. “Fix the arms!” The removable lining is removing itself. It takes a good two minutes to locate the tabs and snaps to put it back in its place. Why do they make coats the come apart? All this is just getting the five-year-old ready.

The ten year old is mostly self sufficient when it comes to putting on winter gear, but he’s easily distracted. “Why are you already wearing your boots when you don’t have your snow pants on? How many years have you been doing this? Snow pants, then boots! Stop playing fetch with the dog, and put on your coat! When we’re putting on our coats that’s ALL we’re doing! No, you don’t have time to look for your Lego guy! Yes, you have to wear the snow pants. I know it’s warmer than yesterday, but it’s still only 15 degrees outside.”

Somewhere in all of this you have to put on your own outer wear if you’re going out with the kids. It’s a delicate operation, because if you put it on too soon, you end up roasting and almost passing out from heat exhaustion while you’re running around helping and waiting for them to finish getting ready. But if you wait too long, they’ll be ready and standing by the door waiting for you. Then they’ll complain they’re hot and start stripping off all the pieces they just spent half the morning putting on.

Hat and scarves at next. Then gloves last. Always gloves last! Once those are on, hands are useless. Helping little ones get their gloves on is like stuffing sausage during an earthquake. They can’t stand still. They can’t get their fingers in right. There are always three fingers where there should be one. “Where’s your thumb? Where’s your thumb! Did if fall off? Oh, there it is. Wait! We had that one on right. Why are all your fingers in one spot now?”

Now they have to get their backpacks on over all those layers. It takes more stuffing and prodding and frantic adjusting of straps.

It’s finally time to go outside. Breath is coming hot and fast. Sweat is dripping from everyone’s brow. The cold air on the other side of the door is welcome, sweet relief.

Then —

“Mom, I have to pee!”