It only takes a moment

A mother rises early to pack lunches and fix breakfast. At the usual time she enters the room her sons' share and gently tries to rouse them with rubs on the back, questions about the school day ahead, and reminders of the afternoon plans. The boys grunt at her and swat her away as if she is just an annoying fly. She leaves the room allowing them another moments rest while she finishes breakfast. She returns to the room a little more firm with her request for them to rise, instructing them to put on an outer layer as the air has a slight chill to it this morning. She finally sees the slow movement of the young bodies making their way out from under their coverings and she heads back to the kitchen. After a few more calls up to the room, each becoming a little less sweet, the two boys eventually emerge. Only one has heeded the remarks of the extra layer, the other shivers dressed only in a thin t-shirt and shorts. As they make their way to the table to consume their breakfast (which luckily today they both seem to be content with) the mother tells the shivering son to return to his room after he eats for a sweatshirt. After the boys have finished their meal they drop into chairs near the kitchen with no suggestion that they intend to finish their preparations for school. Mustering her patience she reminds them that the bus will arrive shortly and they need to brush their teeth, comb their hair, and wash their faces. The oldest slowly makes his way into the bathroom only to exit moments later, the front of his hair wet and slicked while the back looks like a rooster's comb. The mother asks "Did you brush your teeth?" He grunts and returns to the bathroom. A second time he appears with the face wash complaining that the pump isn't working. As his father fixes the pump his mother again asks, "Did you brush your teeth yet?" Another grunt and the child once again  returns to the bathroom. Meanwhile the younger brother continues to lounge in the chair. His mother suggests that he could be gathering his things, finding his shoes, and putting his lunch up. His response "But I haven't brushed my teeth yet." The mother with less suggestion and more command in her voice repeats the earlier statement about preparing his things. Just as he grudgingly rises from the chair the bathroom becomes available and he rushes in. Finally after several tips about combing and cleanliness both boys are properly groomed (or at least appear to be) and the mother once again begins the request to ready their backpacks and get their shoes. The boys saunter around the home searching for their homework  trying to recall where they placed it after it was finished the afternoon before, causally looking for shoes, fighting, laughing and joking with each other during the process. As the minutes tick by the mother's impatience grows and her tone of voice with each reminder becomes more harsh. Then the moment arrives: backpacks are on their backs, shoes are on and kind of tied, and lunches are in hand. The mother with what gentleness she has left wishes them a good day and kisses them on the head as she see the bus coming up the street. Just then the youngest says "Can you fix me a snack for the afternoon snack time?" The mom's answer is short, compassion-less "No I don't have time now." And just as the bus pulls to a stop in front of the house he turns and looks at her with the eyes of one being sent into battle without rations.  The mother sighs and knows that because of this moment there will be no mother-of-the-year nomination today.