So, it's back-to-school time after an Irene-imposed delay . Hooray!

I must admit we're all ready for it around here. This is a tribute to parents everywhere who are gearing up for the craziness of early mornings.

I have a friend who wants to create a silent movie across cultures documenting those last three minutes before leaving for school in the morning. She predicts that no matter the language or country, it will look pretty much the same -- frantic grown-ups rushing half-dressed kids out the door.

This poem was written when we were living in England, so it has some British twists, but the theme is universal. It’s dedicated to all the Barrington parents getting ready to get kids to school on time. Names have been changed to protect the innocent -- any resemblance to my real life family is purely coincidental.

The School Run

They say that it’s the school run which makes perfect sense to me
As mum races through my bedroom door at seven-thirty-three.
Good-morning-how-are-you-today I think is what she said
But I couldn’t really answer ‘cause she dumped me out of bed.

“Hurry up! We’re running late! Get brushed and dress your hair!”
(Mum mixes up her words sometimes but doesn’t seem to care.)
I know by now I shouldn’t laugh, I’ve been through this before-
It started back in Nursery and now I’m in Year Four.

My uniform’s not ironed; my name labels aren’t sewn in-
Half my gym kit’s missing; two left sneakers are thrown in.
Mum’s got no change for lunch again. She says that I should borrow
And that I shouldn’t worry ‘cause she’ll sort it out tomorrow.

The box says Eat Your Breakfast: It’s The Best Start To Your Day
Mum tosses me some biscuits and says, “Eat them on the way!”
I’m looking in my rucksack for my homework to be signed:
“Just write my name,” suggests my mum, “the teacher shouldn’t mind.”

“Get jumpers on! It’s time to go! You need your blazers, too!”
Ellie’s tugging at her nappy and I’m sure I smell a poo.
“No time for changing now,” says mum, “you’re coming as you are.”
She plops Miss Yucky Stinkypants directly in the car.

Oh well, we’re off; we’re heading out. We’re on our way to school…
Today we might just be on time! I’m feeling calm and cool -
‘Til mum asks Harry something and I turn around to stare.
“Oh, no, please not again,” I plead. My brother isn’t there.

Screech and stop! Turn! Reverse! Back through the round-about.
Mums with prams are holding tight. “They’re back!” they scream. “Watch out!”
Mum scoops up Harry from the grass and buckles up his seat.
It’s only then I spot the mismatched shoes upon her feet.

I see the other mums at school - they don’t seem quite so stressed.
Their hair is combed, their make-up’s on, they’re really smartly dressed.
They’re heading to the car park for they’ve kissed their kids goodbye
But we’re still on our school run and we’ve really got to fly.

I can’t be late for register - today we practice hymns.
I was meant to bring in lemonade but mum’s put in the PIMMS.
“Today I’m in the netball match; it starts at half past two.”
“That’s great!” says mum and then she adds, “I am so proud of you.”

I guess it doesn’t matter if we’re always running late
I only have eight years to go until I graduate.
I’m sure that I’ll be ready for that glorious day to come -
Still I wonder if one day I’ll miss these school runs with my mum?