I have never been a morning person.
Unfortunately, that hasn't changed with motherhood. In fact, while mornings may have been a little less than rosy before, now I just freakin hate them.
Not always, of course. Sometimes, I will awake to a sweet two year old staring lovingly into my face, or an excited seven year old bounding happily into my room, or a gentle kiss from a four year old prince.
But mostly, I wake to someone, or several someones, screaming in the bedroom next to ours. Or throwing legos into the hallway. Or sticking their finger in my eye.
On most days, there are now two kids to get ready for school. Whoever said it gets easier once your kids start school was a liar. Or maybe just delusional from sleep deprivation. Oh sure it's easier between the hours of 9 am and 3 pm, because they're not there. But trust me, the craziness between the hours of 7:15 and 8:45 more than makes up for it.
I realize that's only an hour and a half. But it feels like six hours.
Except when it comes to having enough time to get everything done.
In which case it feels like ten minutes.
Oh sure, it starts out easy enough. A somewhat leisurely breakfast as we talk about our day. But then I look at the clock, and suddenly...it's time.
Time for the calm, maternal figure in the kitchen, who just ten minutes ago was sweetly asking "Waffles or oatmeal, Sweet pea?" to turn into a psycho drill sergeant on speed.
Get dressed!
Find your shoes!
Take your lunch!
Shit. I haven't made your lunch.
Find your shoes!
Brush your teeth!
Do your hair!
Why don't you have your shoes on?
And for the third time put your socks on the right feet!
And then I think, I would totally skip the sugar in my coffee if I could just put a little xanax in it instead.
I drive the kids to school almost every day now. Because I think it's important that the last face they see before they walk into their school is mine. That before they have to sit down and do the calculus that they now teach in second grade (at least I'm pretty sure it's calculus), or spend an hour learning to write their name, they get a kiss and a hug from their mom.
That is why I drive them to school.
It has almost nothing to do with the fact that my butt can't manage to get their butts out the door in time to get the bus.
Or that one of them doesn't even have the option of the bus.
So I drive them to school and as I drop them off, I pray that they have a good day, and that they stay safe, and that no one is mean to them. And then I pray equally hard that none of the teachers come over to help N close the door as she gets out, because then they would see the inside of my car.
And call the health department.
And as I drop B off at preschool, I hope that his teachers don't notice that his socks don't match and that, like me, they'll just be happy that he actually has a sock on each foot. And shoes, too. And I pray they don't notice that the jacket he's wearing is actually his brothers, which he grabbed from the back of our car where it has been for the last two months. And I hope I will find his new, seasonably appropriate coat when I get home.
Even though I'm pretty sure I haven't seen it since Thanksgiving.
Occasionally, I see another mom like me. She may try to hide it, but we can pick each other out pretty easily. The ones who are dressed well but forgot to brush their hair. Or whose hair looks great but who are wearing shoes that don't match. Or the one who has make-up applied perfectly. To one side of her face.
But mostly, the moms I see in the mornings are much more together than I am. Or at least they fake it really, really well. Their kids are always wearing seasonably appropriate clothing that actually fits, and carrying book bags without muddy footprints on them. They smile, and say good morning, as if they've somehow already had the amount of coffee they require in order to interact with others. (This usually happens for me around noon). Of course, they are also dressed adorably and with their make up perfectly done. Even though they're just going to the gym.
These are the moms whose cars are always clean. Or at least clean enough that they don't seem to care if anyone sees the inside as the kids pile out. Am I the only one who strategically places myself outside the open car door to minimize the chances that anyone is actually going to see in there?
And then, after the morning craziness, and the slightly less crazy mid day craziness, there's the nighttime craziness.
It's not any more perfect than day time. Last night, I finally made time to re-fold a
I chase them through the house to get them into bed, and O insists on doing handstands in his crib for ten minutes before finally laying down.
I lay down with B for those ten minutes, and as I finally start to leave, he asks me to stay for just one more minute.
As I eventually start to leave again, I tell him that I love him more than all the stars in the sky. I don't tell him that that's also the amount of xanax I would like to put in my coffee most mornings.
"I love you, too, Mom. But I love you more than all the macaroni in the cheese."
I tell N good night, and she ignores me as she's reading her book. She doesn't want me to read to her anymore. And she wont read to me. So we lay there for a few minutes, me missing the days when she wanted just one more book.
I start to get up, and she says, "Don't forget my kiss".
At least she still wants to kiss me.
I sneak downstairs, hoping they don't hear the creaking stairs, a sound which will surely have someone calling for me again.
"Mommmmmmmy!!!!"
I've been caught.
"Yes O?" He is crying.
"My eye just fell off!"
"OK honey. We'll put it back on in the morning."
"OK. Thanks Mom".
So very far from perfect.
And yet, so close.
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