In the morning, my son and daughter wander downstairs whenever they want. I don’t bother waking them at a reasonable hour, since my highest priority as a parent is for my kids to see me as their best friend, rather than an authority figure.
I believe that any attempt to regulate my kids’ eating will give them eating disorders, so I let them choose their own breakfast. They always choose granola.
My kids get dressed, but when I see my daughter’s clothes, I inform her they’re not revealing enough. I retrieve a pair of scissors from my unnecessarily open kitchen and cut her shirt in half horizontally to reveal her midriff. I convince both kids to put on more makeup.
Next, I drop the kids off at school because they’re too soft to walk the six miles uphill. I’m always careful to pack their water bottles, even though I never brought a water bottle to school, and I didn’t die of dehydration.