I hate my son

No, I don't hate my son. Please don't call child services.
I love my son. Still, please don't call child services
But I do hate that he no longer takes the bus to school (he now walks, the healthy little so-and-so).
You see, back in the bus riding days, that five or ten minutes spent waiting for the bus, that was Ukulele Time.
A glorious, tiny chunk of time, when the boy was too sleepy for anything else, and we just had to stand around and wait.
I really looked forward to it. I'd have my little practice routine all worked out.
Some days something technical, a scale or a lick.
Some days, working out a song.
(Songs became more popular, because the little sleepyhead would often join in).
But now he walks.
And I've struggled to replace that uke time. It's not that hard to find 5 or 10 minutes, but the ROUTINE was invaluable. KNOWING that at a certain time each day you'll pick up your uke and play just makes things easy.
Can you find a little nugget of time and make it your sacred ukulele time?
It will quickly and vastly help you get better.
Now you can call child services.