15 Minutes

There's a lot to love about Braeden.  One of those things is how speedy quick he is getting ready in the morning.  He showers the night before going to sleep.  He rolls out of bed.  Throws on whatever clothes he can find in the dark so he doesn't wake up Mark and may or may not look in the mirror at his hair which is usually disheveled.  I tell him to batten down his hair a little.  He smooths his hand over it and it looks OK.

He eats breakfast.  I groggily pack his lunch.  We wake up Adam and Emma for a prayer and away he goes.  (We used to wake up Mark too and he'd lay face first on the floor and moan.  We are conflicted because we'd like him to be up with us to pray but it goes against everything I know to wake up a sleeping child if you don't have to.)

Braeden is always chipper in the morning.  Those 15 minutes between me waking him up and sending him out the door in his Glacier Peak sweatshirt are usually pleasant thanks to him.

Last night Adam and Braeden and Emma went to the temple with all the other Young Men and Young Women. They got home and were tired and sent to bed.  Braeden was still tired this morning. I asked him for his lunch bag which he had taken last night for a sack dinner.  He couldn't find the bag he'd taken to the temple.  He wandered around in a fog and didn't know where it was.  I was prickly.  I was tired.  I was standing in the kitchen making sandwiches and being waspish.
Braeden meandered through the dark living room and said, "I can't find it."

"Turn a light on," I snapped.

He did and then rambled upstairs, in his tired daze.  "I can't find it."

I fired my cranky questions at him.  "When's the last time you had it?"  "Is it in the car?"  "Did you leave it at the temple?"

"I don't know," was his sluggish answer.

Lost items annoy me.  Indifference about lost items really annoys me.  But what really caused the disintegration of the morning was that Braeden then got annoyed too.  He started snapping right back at me and may have even glared at me over his yogurt.

I sent him on his way and things weren't exactly friendly.

Then the phone just rang.

It was my boy.  He said, "Mom.  I'm sorry."

I told him I was too.  I told him it was OK. 

I said, "Where are you calling from?"

He said, "School.  I have to go.  I'm really sorry though Mom. And thanks for packing my lunch."

I'm pretty sure I don't deserve him as my son.  He's sweet and thoughtful and I'm cranky. 

I wish I could have those 15 minutes back. 

I would act better.