I know all the rules.
1. pick clothes out the night before and set them out.
2. have breakfast at least partially prepped the night before so that you have less to do in the morning
3. wake up before the kids so that you can get yourself together and your head together before your thoughts are invaded.
I’m not good with rules. I like it when others follow them, but me – I’m a lost cause.
So while I know that the Start-The-Day-Off-Right rules are designed to help me get the morning off to a cheerful organized start, it’s hard to remember that as I flail about in a semi-dream state while my daughters yank me from my sleep by either drop licking me in an affectionate fly to precisely where my soft stomach is exposed or whining in the most irksome and ear-cringing way.
Instead, I try to swallow my yell put on a smile and welcome the day opening my eyes to a little face in my face. Those are the good days. When Sienna comes to see me, I usually end up with her loaded diapered butt in my face and as has been the case on an unfortunate number of mornings, she opts to perch herself – loaded diaper and all – on my head.
That my days start late and with a lot of negotiating, whining and yelling more often than not deters me from having any more of these things we call children. These little people we “painted” to quote my Naya and unwaveringly (most of the time) adore.
Mornings at our house are truly awful. It’ll take me a good hour to come back to center and focus after dropping off the girls and that’s after it took so long to get them there in the first place! I won’t even tell you how long it takes. It’s embarrassing.
I can get through the ‘during the day stuff’. I manage to be funny, enlightened, connected, warm and positively challenging. But come bed time or when morning swings around again all I want is to dive into a tea – or martini rossi depending on the day – or into the couch with a book or a movie block out the fact that I have mommy duties to perform.
This morning, Noosh and I hugged it out for a solid three minutes. She was so upset about her pants that she couldn’t even figure out what she wanted. When I asked if she preferred to change in to one of two other pants her only answer was “I don’t know what I want” – and that was pushed out by snotty sobs that shook her curly little head. So we hugged and rocked and I coo’d and she calmed. And we changed her pants.
I used to say that I couldn’t wait for this or that. Now I grip this moment in life so deeply that my nails dig deep into the fabric of life because experience has shown me and wiser people than me have told me that it only get’s harder from here.