Morning Mania
When I was in college mornings presented little challenge whatsoever. I could wake up, wash my face, brush teeth and hair, and run out the door with as little as 5 minutes prep time. I was young, and responsible for only one person. And that person still didn't need makeup. It was a beautifl thing.
As a mother, all things simple are gone, and mornings are a time of utter and total chaos in la casa.
We will start with a brief introduction to personalities as expressed in the morning. Gavin and I, we wake up incredibly well. The alarm goes off at four and I'm out of bed and in the excercise room. After an hour I come back up, make coffee, and venture in to wake the cop.
The cop and Gabe, they do mornings poorly. The cop has improved dramatically within the last year. Gabe has not. So, after I tell the cop coffee is brewing I clear out and allow him space. While I get ready for the day he makes our two, very different cups of coffee, makes two lunches, packs a snack, makes sure the library book is in Gavin's backpack to spare us the horror of a repeat of the "WHY WOULDN'T YOU CHECK?!? I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO DIDN'T GET TO CHECK A BOOK OUT TODAY?" drama, and then wakes the angels. Between both of us we get them dressed and load them up, and me and the kiddos are on the road by 6:15. Drop off daycare at 6:45, make it to work by 7, and exhale.
Sometimes, however, there is an alteration in scheduling. Sometimes one of us has training out of town. And sometimes, sometimes the cop has to work day shift (whole body shudder). This week the cop had a full week of day shift. That involves the cop being at work at 6. Which means that this lady flies solo in morning prep.
I don't know if we have previously addressed my OCD. Suffice it to say it's there, it's oppressive, and it doesn't appreciate change in routine. And this is a BIG change in routine. But I was willing to give it the old college try. So I decided that at 5:45 the boys would be woken, told to get dressed while I finished getting ready, and we would proceed to daycare in an orderly fashion. HA!!!!
Our first morning I yelled up at the boys to wakey wakey, and get some clothes on. Three minutes later Gavin was at my side, dressed and smiling. Gabe? Still in bed. I instructed my other cheery morning compatriot to run upstairs and wake Gabe. A dark cloud of what looked like panic passed over his face. Really? Because Gabe is only three little guy. No sweat, right?
Gavin begrudgingly climbed the stairs. As I was trying to apply concealer to the bags under my eyes, which since I've had children extend down to the vicinity of my collarbones, I heard Gabriel yell at Gavin "No, YOU get up!!" Gentle murmuring as Gavin tried to explain that he WAS, in fact, up, and Gabe needed to follow suit, and then the open weeping from Gabe began.
Ok....enough concealer. I yelled at Gabe, something kind and encouraging about c'mon big guy, lets get moving, you can pick your own shirt (you know, one of the 800 superhero shirts that are the only thing that prevents full blown temper tantrums during the dressing process). After all, on weekends the boys dress themselves. I know he's capable. Just unwilling.
Dash back to the bathroom. Eyeliner....easy, steady hand...and then the screaming, something about turning off the light because it burns his eyes. Three things happen at once. I screw up my eyeliner. I am amazed that Gavin has apparently gotten dressed in a dark bedroom. And I'm slightly concerned that Gabe may be a vampire.
Back to the foot of the stairs, a quick, something less than cheery admonishment to Gabe that it is now only 10 minutes to departure and he needs to be getting dressed. NOW. Back to the bathroom, eyeshadow, mascara, tooth brushing...holy cow, it's actually quiet upstairs. No fighting, relative peace, something is obviously wrong. I dash up the stairs, and Gavin is sitting on the floor drawing (most likely on papers of mine that are important, but I don't have time to scrutinize, because it's six minutes to departure). Gabe? Still lying in bed, arm over his eyes, weeping silently.
NOOOOOOO!!!!!! All calm vanishes. I'm not dressed, and Gabe, he's not even out of bed! I yell at him that it is seriously time to GET UP and get clothes. In an effort to speed the process I even set out some clothes and give him a warning that I don't care which superhero he wanted, he gets whatever was closest because now we are LATE! I start to run downstairs and realize he is still in bed, now crying that mommy has "hurt his feelings."
My husband assures me his dramatic nature and slight moodiness are from me. I tend to disagree. But regardless, I don't have time to examine it right now. Which I tell him. I ensure he is out of bed and go down to get dressed. Gavin comes downstairs. Shoes on, lunch in hand, waiting by the door. Gabe brings me his shoes for help and I am horrified as I stare down at him, shirt on, socks on, no pants or underwear whatsoever. WHAT?!? Seriously, he has to realize he's not going to daycare like that right? He explains his underwear were inside out. He couldn't fix them. He shrugs, figuring why bother, right?
Mad dash up the stairs to FIND the underwear and shorts. They are located in two different rooms, I still don't have shoes on, and Gabriel has managed to get his own shoes on and is standing by the door with Gav, lunch in hand, ready to go sans pants.
We are now five minutes late. I am actually slipping on shoes while running through the house, trying to turn off lights and open the bottles for my blood pressure meds while closing in on Gabriel with the necessary clothing to prevent indecent exposure charges. I have localized our area of focus to the door. We can do everything from there. I pull off the shoes, throw on the underwear and pants, usher the children out, set the alarm, lock the door, and we are on to the car. Only ten minutes late. Not awful.
I strap the boys in, and as soon as the buckling is done Gavin realizes he has neglected to go to the bathroom. And he needs to. NOW. Eyes to the heavens, I count to ten and pray for the blood pressure meds to kick in quickly. I unbuckle him and explain that I am not going back in the house. There's no time. Nobody is awake, he's just going to have to pee in the bushes. But it's dark, and he's pretty sure the bear is out there. It takes just as long to convince him as it would have to hike back in, unlock, and disarm the alarm. Fifteen minutes late.
We load back up. Finally we are driving. At least it is forward momentum, and I'm encouraged. But by the time we make it to daycare both boys are crying over some hitting match that ensued over a toy and not getting to hear everything they wanted on the radio. My eye is twitching and I'm pretty sure the blood pressure meds aren't going to stop the impending stroke. I don't remember taking them into daycare, but the door closes behind me and suddenly I am squealing away before the provider realizes I'm not paying her nearly enough. I arrive at work, nearly 20 minutes late, and collapse in a heap at my desk.
I would love to pretend the rest of the week went better. It didn't. And the only thing that cheers me is the cop now has no more dayshift for at least the next month. It's Saturday, and I will spend the day (after soccer, of course) cleaning up the trails of clothing that have been strewn about in panic throughout the week, both by the boys and myself. And I will bask in the glow of knowing that the cop will be here to wake Gabe next week.
Until next time.
As a mother, all things simple are gone, and mornings are a time of utter and total chaos in la casa.
We will start with a brief introduction to personalities as expressed in the morning. Gavin and I, we wake up incredibly well. The alarm goes off at four and I'm out of bed and in the excercise room. After an hour I come back up, make coffee, and venture in to wake the cop.
The cop and Gabe, they do mornings poorly. The cop has improved dramatically within the last year. Gabe has not. So, after I tell the cop coffee is brewing I clear out and allow him space. While I get ready for the day he makes our two, very different cups of coffee, makes two lunches, packs a snack, makes sure the library book is in Gavin's backpack to spare us the horror of a repeat of the "WHY WOULDN'T YOU CHECK?!? I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO DIDN'T GET TO CHECK A BOOK OUT TODAY?" drama, and then wakes the angels. Between both of us we get them dressed and load them up, and me and the kiddos are on the road by 6:15. Drop off daycare at 6:45, make it to work by 7, and exhale.
Sometimes, however, there is an alteration in scheduling. Sometimes one of us has training out of town. And sometimes, sometimes the cop has to work day shift (whole body shudder). This week the cop had a full week of day shift. That involves the cop being at work at 6. Which means that this lady flies solo in morning prep.
I don't know if we have previously addressed my OCD. Suffice it to say it's there, it's oppressive, and it doesn't appreciate change in routine. And this is a BIG change in routine. But I was willing to give it the old college try. So I decided that at 5:45 the boys would be woken, told to get dressed while I finished getting ready, and we would proceed to daycare in an orderly fashion. HA!!!!
Our first morning I yelled up at the boys to wakey wakey, and get some clothes on. Three minutes later Gavin was at my side, dressed and smiling. Gabe? Still in bed. I instructed my other cheery morning compatriot to run upstairs and wake Gabe. A dark cloud of what looked like panic passed over his face. Really? Because Gabe is only three little guy. No sweat, right?
Gavin begrudgingly climbed the stairs. As I was trying to apply concealer to the bags under my eyes, which since I've had children extend down to the vicinity of my collarbones, I heard Gabriel yell at Gavin "No, YOU get up!!" Gentle murmuring as Gavin tried to explain that he WAS, in fact, up, and Gabe needed to follow suit, and then the open weeping from Gabe began.
Ok....enough concealer. I yelled at Gabe, something kind and encouraging about c'mon big guy, lets get moving, you can pick your own shirt (you know, one of the 800 superhero shirts that are the only thing that prevents full blown temper tantrums during the dressing process). After all, on weekends the boys dress themselves. I know he's capable. Just unwilling.
Dash back to the bathroom. Eyeliner....easy, steady hand...and then the screaming, something about turning off the light because it burns his eyes. Three things happen at once. I screw up my eyeliner. I am amazed that Gavin has apparently gotten dressed in a dark bedroom. And I'm slightly concerned that Gabe may be a vampire.
Back to the foot of the stairs, a quick, something less than cheery admonishment to Gabe that it is now only 10 minutes to departure and he needs to be getting dressed. NOW. Back to the bathroom, eyeshadow, mascara, tooth brushing...holy cow, it's actually quiet upstairs. No fighting, relative peace, something is obviously wrong. I dash up the stairs, and Gavin is sitting on the floor drawing (most likely on papers of mine that are important, but I don't have time to scrutinize, because it's six minutes to departure). Gabe? Still lying in bed, arm over his eyes, weeping silently.
NOOOOOOO!!!!!! All calm vanishes. I'm not dressed, and Gabe, he's not even out of bed! I yell at him that it is seriously time to GET UP and get clothes. In an effort to speed the process I even set out some clothes and give him a warning that I don't care which superhero he wanted, he gets whatever was closest because now we are LATE! I start to run downstairs and realize he is still in bed, now crying that mommy has "hurt his feelings."
My husband assures me his dramatic nature and slight moodiness are from me. I tend to disagree. But regardless, I don't have time to examine it right now. Which I tell him. I ensure he is out of bed and go down to get dressed. Gavin comes downstairs. Shoes on, lunch in hand, waiting by the door. Gabe brings me his shoes for help and I am horrified as I stare down at him, shirt on, socks on, no pants or underwear whatsoever. WHAT?!? Seriously, he has to realize he's not going to daycare like that right? He explains his underwear were inside out. He couldn't fix them. He shrugs, figuring why bother, right?
Mad dash up the stairs to FIND the underwear and shorts. They are located in two different rooms, I still don't have shoes on, and Gabriel has managed to get his own shoes on and is standing by the door with Gav, lunch in hand, ready to go sans pants.
We are now five minutes late. I am actually slipping on shoes while running through the house, trying to turn off lights and open the bottles for my blood pressure meds while closing in on Gabriel with the necessary clothing to prevent indecent exposure charges. I have localized our area of focus to the door. We can do everything from there. I pull off the shoes, throw on the underwear and pants, usher the children out, set the alarm, lock the door, and we are on to the car. Only ten minutes late. Not awful.
I strap the boys in, and as soon as the buckling is done Gavin realizes he has neglected to go to the bathroom. And he needs to. NOW. Eyes to the heavens, I count to ten and pray for the blood pressure meds to kick in quickly. I unbuckle him and explain that I am not going back in the house. There's no time. Nobody is awake, he's just going to have to pee in the bushes. But it's dark, and he's pretty sure the bear is out there. It takes just as long to convince him as it would have to hike back in, unlock, and disarm the alarm. Fifteen minutes late.
We load back up. Finally we are driving. At least it is forward momentum, and I'm encouraged. But by the time we make it to daycare both boys are crying over some hitting match that ensued over a toy and not getting to hear everything they wanted on the radio. My eye is twitching and I'm pretty sure the blood pressure meds aren't going to stop the impending stroke. I don't remember taking them into daycare, but the door closes behind me and suddenly I am squealing away before the provider realizes I'm not paying her nearly enough. I arrive at work, nearly 20 minutes late, and collapse in a heap at my desk.
I would love to pretend the rest of the week went better. It didn't. And the only thing that cheers me is the cop now has no more dayshift for at least the next month. It's Saturday, and I will spend the day (after soccer, of course) cleaning up the trails of clothing that have been strewn about in panic throughout the week, both by the boys and myself. And I will bask in the glow of knowing that the cop will be here to wake Gabe next week.
Until next time.
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