Obviously an unfit parent
My kids tend to think I'm a rotten parent. I know most kids do at some point or another, but some days it's easier to take than others.
Robert wakes up earlier than anyone in the house. He rarely sleeps past about 6 AM. This morning was no exception -- I heard him rise at a few minutes before 6. If I can help it, I'll sleep in until about 6:45 or so, but I rarely can, since he, his brother and his sister are usually making noise in the living room, watching TV (even though they know it's not allowed before school), playing games or generally irritating each other and screaming and shouting.
I've been a bit insomniac the last few nights so I was groggier than usual this morning -- I managed to stay in bed until about 7:02. At that point told Robert to get ready for school, since he needed to be at the bus stop in 18 minutes. His reaction was to reach under the kitchen counter to grab a box of cereal.
"Get ready for school first. If there's time afterwards, you can eat. But you should have thought of that when you first woke up," I told him. He glared at me.
"Are you new here?" I asked him incredulously. "Are you unfamiliar with the routine that we've had in place since you started elementary school?" He sullenly went about the business of getting ready. Suffice it to say that he didn't end up having time to eat breakfast before he went out the door. He needed to dress, collect his homework, lunch and school snacks, brush his teeth and hair, and find his jacket. He could have done any number of these things in the hour or so
So I got a call from his teacher a short time ago. "Robert says you refused to let him have breakfast this morning," she said. I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice. She clearly knew that Robert was lying. I explained the situation. I said to her that I told him he could eat when he was ready, and he didn't have enough time.
She had figured as much. She volunteered to allow him to go to the school cafeteria for breakfast, but he refused. First the excuse was that he had no money. "They'll bill you," she told him. Then the excuse was that they served milk (Robert's lactose-intolerant). "They have juice," she said. Eventually he just out-and-out refused to go. He'd rather complain and feel sorry for himself than do something about it.
It was clear to both of us that it's just one of those days where Robert's feeling like being a jerk, and the rest of us get to suffer for it.