Tikkabik

James was running late for school this morning, and how he handled it, versus how his sister or brother handled it, is a prime example of how they're different. Some of it is just the differences in siblings, but I think it also goes to illustrate how James doesn't have the same emotional disabilities his brother and sister do.

James slept until 8 AM this morning. That's a bit unusual for him -- he's usually up an hour or so earlier, in time to see his brother leave for school, but this morning he was tired because he was up late last night. He had less than 15 minutes to get ready for the bus.

When I roused him, he looked at me and said, "You should have woke me up at 7:30."

"I tried," I told him, "But you kept going back to sleep."

He nodded and started getting ready on his own. Bonnie was sleeping in this morning -- she had a long day yesterday -- so he helped himself to clothes and got dressed by himself.

That right there is a key difference between him and his brother. His brother would have gotten angry and resentful, blaming the world for his misfortunes instead of owning up to the problem and just pushing through it. In all likelihood, Robert would have sat down some place and just sulked, giving anyone who came near him the hairy eyeball, face set in a petulant pout and nostrils flaring.

James managed to get ready, though his clothes were a bit askew, and I asked him if he wanted me to heat him up a couple of waffles before he left. I figured he still had about five minutes or so until the bus came down the street -- enough time to toast two Eggos and for him to eat them if he wanted.

At this point in the process James' sister would be in an utter panic. Emmeline would be wailing hysterically, sobbing at being rushed and totally unable to think through what she should do next. In other words, in the midst of a full-blown anxiety attack. We deal with this with her almost every day of the week, by the way. It never gets any easier.

"No," he said, shrugging. "Just give me a couple of Pop-Tarts and a quarter for milk. I'll eat them and have milk at school with the kids who eat breakfast there."

I hadn't even *thought* of breakfast at school. This first-grader was already a step ahead of his dad.

So I handed James his Pop-Tarts and his quarter. He stuffed them in his bag, zipped up his coat, waved goodbye and walked out the door -- in plenty of time for the bus.

Amazing.