Why Didn't I Think Of This Sooner?

Every. Single. Morning. I have to fight with Doof to (a) get up (b) get dressed (c) eat (d) eat faster (e) OH MY GOD HURRY UP AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH BEFORE YOU ARE TARDY AND I LOSE MY MIND!!!!! I have tried everything I could imagine to get him just to, please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...MOVE YOUR ASS!!!  I mean, what is it with this kid? I have found myself asking if this is just a personality trait I will have to accommodate. Will Doof ALWAYS be leisurely? Will he NEVER care about hurrying the hell up for anything? I have even asked myself if it's a black thing. Would black mothers be as crazed as I am about getting things done on time, being prompt? Is he on "black people time" and I just don't get it?

I'm not kidding you when I say that I have, on more than one occasion and by 7:00am, grabbed him by the shoulders and shaken him until I heard his teeth rattle. It takes that much escalation and effort just to get his attention and to let him know that I am serious about whatever it is I am saying to him or asking of him. Am I proud of doing this? No. Am I human? Yes. Am I a perfect parent? Yes. Really? Yes. Perfect. I'll prove it in a few paragraphs.

It is so irritating to have to tell him over and over to do things. It is frustrating to me that he waits until he is told to do the things he knows he has to do. We call this "Learned Helplessness". And it is all my fault. He acts like he's helpless and I continue to treat him like he's helpless.

Me: Hey, Doof, put your clothes on.
Doof: Ok.
(fifteen whole minutes later...I mean, really, the kid has to put on three items that have been predetermined that he would wear. They're already laying there waiting to be worn. Three items. That's it. Five counting socks and shoes.)
Me: Doof, really? Where are your shoes?
Doof: In my room. You didn't tell me to put them on.
Me: (collapse to the floor and begin banging head)
Doof: Whhaaaattt?
Me: (now sobbing): How many days have you gone to school without shoes on? Do I have to tell you every single time what every single step is?
Doof: (standing there)
Me: OH MY GOD! GO GET YOUR SHOES ON! (then realizing I forgot to mention socks...) AND IF YOU COME OUT OF YOUR ROOM WITHOUT SOCKS ON BOTH OF YOUR FEET I AM GOING TO....(thinking, thinking, thinking)...GIVE ALL YOUR TOYS TO THE FOSTER KIDS AT WORK!!!

Mornings are bad. After school is terrible.

Doof RARELY has time to play after school because gets home at 3:00pm and he spends SO MUCH TIME on each task that by the time he is done bitching and finally doing what he needs to do,  we have dinner around 6:30pm (then he sits at the table for an hour eating so incredibly slowly) that after dinner, he goes straight to getting ready for bed.  Still, THREE AND A HALF HOURS is enough time to have a snack, do homework, pick one chore, and then play before dinner. It's ridiculous (right?) that he can't do these things in that much time. And then guess what happens? I get to listen to him moan and whine that he didn't get to play outside AFTER I have listened to him moan and whine about not getting the snack he wants, not wanting to do his homework, not understanding his homework, not being to pronounce the word "would"/"marble"/WHATEVER, and then complaining that he doesn't know how to "fold his blanket"/"find the trash bags"/WHATEVER. It is an understatement to say that I am sick of it. Sick to death.

I consider myself to be somewhat intelligent. I have a degree in psychology and a graduate degree, too. So why is it that I am so dumb when it comes to my own kids? I had this idea (okay, it wasn't really technically my idea, per se) that I would make these lists on small dry-erase boards for Doof. I would make a list of the tasks he needed to complete for each section, if you will, of the day. Each day he would choose the list and go through the tasks he needs to complete and check them off one by one.

Honestly, I put off doing this little kid-organizing task because I didn't want to have to go through all of his lists with him and double-check his work. I mean, that's like adding another baby to the mix...following him around, looking over his shoulder all the time, double-checking his work and most of all, listening to the whining!!! Plus I'm...kinda lazy and all...so, yeah, that's why this took so long. But, do you want to know what jump started this process? Frigging Target had the dry-erase boards for a dollar. Naturally, I bought ten because I have a lot of lists in my head (Poor Doof). Then I bought these Velcro strip thingies that would adhere to the wall, but would also make it possible for Doof to easily remove the board and carry it with him if he needed to do so and then put it right back on the wall.

We started yesterday afternoon after he got home from school. He was super excited to have a list and a dry-erase board! I couldn't believe it myself! He eagerly checked the items off the "After School" list and then...dun dun dun...HE HAD TIME TO PLAY OUTSIDE. Actually, a lot of time. It wasn't all great. The Before Bed segment was a cluster fuck challenging, but this morning....oh, PRAISE GOD, this morning was A DREAM COME TRUE! Doof got out of bed, dutifully went through his steps, checking them off proudly and running into the kitchen to make sure I knew when he had completed one, needed only a little bit of supervision, and got ready for school (including eating breakfast and brushing teeth and putting on socks and shoes) in TWENTY minutes. Twenty. We even made it in enough time for Doof to catch the bus! THE BUS!!!!!  I praised the heck out of him and made a HUGE deal about how GREAT he is and how I AM SO IMPRESSED and OH MY GOSH!! YOU JUST EARNED YOUR TOYS BACK!!! And he was just glowing. Smug. Proud of himself.

AND while we were waiting for the bus, I nicely asked Doof to put on his sweatshirt. A simple task and a kindly phrased direct order (not a choice).  Ugh. I could see it coming...the negotiating, the whining, this perfect morning was going to end in the typical fashion; Doof arguing with me over something so dumb. But...Doof surprised me again. He started to shake his head no, then stopped, then started to give some excuse, then stopped, finally took a big breath...and then a miracle happened.

He said, "Okay, mom. Yes ma'am."

See? Perfect Parent.