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Moms are everyday heroes for a variety of reasons.

And one of the main reasons is, they manage to get their kids to school every day – fed, clothed, and in their right minds.  

The kids, I mean.  The process could easily put anyone on the edge of sanity.

What sounds like such a simple feat in reality requires strategic planning on par with anything Danny Ocean ever executed. 

At our house, we have one who can’t get out of bed.  Another who takes too long in the bathroom.  And another who is nearly always on time, but calls everything just a little too close for me.

On a given morning, my youngest will spend 20 minutes staring at her bowl of cereal, never eating a bite, while one of her brothers provides an ongoing commentary on whatever topic has piqued his interest for the day.  And it’s usually one that annoys her.  (Cue squabbling.)

Another son perfectly times his entrance to the kitchen to eliminate as much human interaction as possible.  Which is usually a good idea.

And I manage all of it.

By the time everyone walks out the door, I have announced the time every seven minutes for an hour, encouraged someone to “hurry up” at least a dozen times, examined – and often made adjustments to - everyone’s wardrobe selections, timed bathroom occupancy and usually refereed at least one argument.

Which doesn’t leave much patience for the carpool line at school, where everyone seems to need a remedial course in driving courtesy.  I’ve seen the other half of the peace sign more than once after unloading my children. 

And by the time I’ve emptied the car, I feel like I’ve already worked half a day. 

I remind my kids regularly how fortunate they are that I am willing to make that drive every morning. 

Because plenty of kids ride the bus.  Which adds another element to the morning rush:  getting to the bus stop on time.

One of my friends, fed up with the daily antics and regular “emergency” trips to school because her kids missed the bus, decided it was time to teach her boys responsibility.  She warned them she would not provide taxi service to school if they missed the busy again. 

And she wasn’t kidding.

When the next inevitable, “oops we missed the bus,” moment arrived, she handed them the phone book.  “Call a taxi,” she said.

And they did.

And, they split the fare.

My son came home that afternoon, incredulous.  “Do you know how Matt got to school today?” he asked. 

“As a matter of fact I do,” I replied. 

“Do you know how much it COST?!”

“No,” I said.  “Do you?”

Because I was thinking, maybe I should start charging.