How is it that I find myself regularly exhausted before 9am?
Why is it that my daughter now HATES the jammy toast that I make her every other day, and my son wishes to debate the iPad argument with me EVERY morning?
Surely this should be a simple transition. Get up. Get fed. Get dressed. Get tidy. Get gear. Get out the door.
Is this just my kids? How can mornings be so hard?
Look. I know there are simple strategies, checklists, routine shapers, blah, blah, blahgitty, blah. And yes, I have employed some of these genius parental tips, BUT, these are not foolproof and I am actually raising little humans. Little humans that have good days and bad days, swinging moods and changing needs and wants. I, too, occasionally wake up on the wrong side of the bed and believe it or not, I am exceptionally far from the perfect parent.
So lately, this is how I have found my mornings…
“Time to get up, my little rays of sunshine!!” I sing, all Mary Poppins like, as I hike up the curtains in the kids room.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! More sleep,” says the little one, who is tired because she insisted it was necessary to search for her pretend mobile phone right on bedtime, whilst pleading for water and suddenly requiring numerous toilet trips.
“Hello Ugly Face,” he wickedly whispers to me, giving me that wonderful burst of parental pride as I admire his clever use of adjectives so early in the morning. This shared love bubble is short lived as he suddenly dives from his bed and races to find the iPad.
“Not before school,” I argue, as we begin the daily dance of the screen time battle. I will win this, and kudos to his ongoing belief that one day I will break, but it is painful and exhausting. The clock is ticking and the toast is burning and the dryer is wildly spinning school clothes that slept the night in the washing machine. I do not need this right now.
Breakfast begins and he is still moaning as she slaps her bed hair head down on the table. My creature of routine son devours his regular honey toast, whilst she is still ‘deciding’. Apparently, I run a top notch B and B, and I am pleased she believes in my ability to produce lavish menus for her perusal, but this is not so. I begin.
Muesli? No.
Fruit? No
Jam toast? No
Vegemite toast? Bllllaaahhhhh (and now she switches to vomit mode). Joy
Weet bix with warm milk? Maybe.
Is that a yes or no? Not hungry.
You need something! Biscuits?
This child will try anything!!!
We settle on something that she absolutely apparently hated yesterday (and the day before that), and she begins to nibble at her food, slyly eyeing me up as she plots just how easily she will agree to any breakfast that Daddy will suggest on the weekend. He cannot understand how this little girl who will try anything (@#!**&%$#) is so difficult on a school day.
The clock ticks.
Yes, they are both now eating, but come on kids, we have a deadline.
Oh, so now they wish to be social and chitty chatty and dawdle (and I do really want to be that Instagram mama who posts pics of baking pikelets in a clean kitchen whilst we sing spelling songs and plan birthdays), but JUST HURRY IT UP, KIDS!
I try to have the clothes laid out the night before to save those few precious seconds, but it is like pulling teeth. Boy child has an aversion to material on his body it seems. Even in the dead of winter on a freezing morning. The warmth of the heating has spoilt this kid, and he will argue the need for a singlet, or long pants or a jumper, even when Siri announces to the room that it is a fresh 3 degrees celsius outside. Then the little love pops her undies on over her inside out school tights, and though I wish for them the safe space to make mistakes and learn lovingly from them, I cannot help but roll my eyes skyward as I again remind her (oh so gently) that she needs to concentrate. I begin the fluffing; collars out, shirts in, buttons up, buckles done…
Hair. Thank you for your support, but I am well aware that there are some fabulous YouTube tutorials out there. My brain gets it, but my fingers and thumbs just don’t. We settle in for the ponytail with lots of water sprays and clips; and I again must explain why the unicorn JoJo bow does not meet the uniform requirements. He thinks a mohawk should be perfectly acceptable as he sprays it all up straight, and I again try to work out when I will get a chance to bring him for a haircut.
I don’t believe the Principal really wants a glimpse of me in my pink, fluffy dressing gown, so I leave them ‘playing’ whilst I wildly perform the dash, splash, zip and smash the foundation on, hoping that the bright lipstick will hide the greasy haired mum bun camouflage.
I fly out of the bathroom screaming about teeth and find board games strewn from one end of the hallway to the other. Explorative play, I tell myself and just hope today is NOT the day we are burgled. I dread the day I have to explain to Police that we were not actually fully ransacked, rather we left the house like that.
I madly soak the weetbix bowl cement and frantically begin the bed making demands.
The clock ticks.
The beds can wait.
WHERE ARE THE SHOES????
WHY ARE THE LUNCHBOXES STILL ON THE BENCH?
PACK YOUR LIBRARY BAG (or is that tomorrow???)!
GET THAT JOJO BOW OFF YOUR HEAD! NOT LIKE THAT…NOW I HAVE TO RE-DO YOUR HAIR! OR NOT. (NO TIME)
SHOES!!!!!!!!!!
Did they brush their teeth?
GRAY YOUR BAGS!!!
GO! GO! GO!
Where is my phone?
Why aren’t the car keys on the hook?
And off we roll…..
The traffic is nuts but we are in the car.
I still have my slippers on.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
But wait…You should see us on a work morning if the kids are dragged out of bed to make it to before school care.
