Our Morning Routine

With just a few weeks left in the school year, I think I am more ready for summer vacation than my first grader. The nights have been warmer and sundown is not until 8:30 pm. It’s nearly impossible to get everyone inside, fed, bathed (not to mention tick-checked) and to sleep at a decent hour.

I’m not quite sure how he does it, but my husband manages to get out of the house by 5:30 am. Although his efforts are quite valiant, it leaves me and our two small children to our own devices (i.e. no backup for the Mama).

Here is a brief description on how I think my morning should go versus how it really goes:

6 am – Everyone is sleeping.

6 am – Everyone is sleeping, except for the cat who is meowing incessantly because she wants me to turn on the faucet so that she can have a drink of water. Clearly, the thirty dollar pet fountain that we bought her is not good enough.

6:30 am – Everyone is still sleeping.

6:30 am – There is a pretty good chance that at least one of my children have been in my bed all night. However, if that is not miraculously the case, then by this time at least one, if not both of them, have made their way into my bed.

7 am – Everyone is comfortably snuggling.

7 am – My children are fighting for a spot on me in an attempt to snuggle. I am being poked and prodded by knees and elbows, while loud little voices fight over who is snuggling more. They then proceed to pull on each other, fart on each other and find just about anything and everything they can to fight about so that by the time I get out of bed I am completely and totally miserable.

7:30 am – Everyone is quietly getting themselves dressed.

7:30 am – My six year old is yelling at me for not washing a certain shirt, pair of shorts, etc. Or both of them are trying to convince me that it is warm enough to wear shorts, despite the fact that there is frost on the ground.

8 am – Everyone is quietly eating breakfast at the dining room table.

8 am – The boys are fighting over what television show to watch, while spilling half of their breakfast on the coffee table and then yelling into the kitchen for the washcloth, even though nine times out of ten it is sitting right in front of them anticipating said spill. I am in the kitchen attempting to clean up the mess from the night before (that I was too exhausted to clean then), while running back and forth between the kitchen and the living room getting them this and that until their bellies are satisfied (while mine is grumbling) or they have turned into zombies in front of the t.v.; whichever comes first.

8:15 am – I lovingly pack a healthy, well-balanced lunch for my 6 year old.

8:15 am – I attempt to pack a well-balanced lunch while my 6 year old tells me that he doesn’t like what I’m packing (even though it was his favorite last week and I, of course, stocked up on it), that Pringles have protein, and that he can’t open and/or close a certain container, so I need to repack said food in a different container.

8:40 am – Everyone is putting on their coats, shoes and whatever other appropriate outdoor attire.

8:40 am – My kids are telling me that they don’t need sweatshirts, coats, hats, gloves, etc. My three year old is trying to race to the garage to get out a scooter, bike or machine that he can ride to the bus stop and my older son is asking me to tie his shoes even though he is well versed in the art of doing so.

8:48 am – Our older child bids farewell to me and our younger son with warm, affectionate hugs and kisses.

8:48 am – Our older child is trying to push me or his little brother off of him(despite begging for snuggles a little over an hour ago) so that no one on the bus sees us being affectionate. PDA are NOT cool.

It is finally 9 am. I am thoroughly and utterly exhausted. I have not eaten anything and already feel defeated for the day. My six year old is getting ready to start his day; well rested, well fed and seemingly indifferent to the strife that he and his little brother have caused. My three year old is ready to jump into our morning routine, which includes asking me a million questions and favors for at least the next hour until I finally tell him that I HAVE to eat something and that I HAVE to get work some done. I spend most mornings trying to remember how in the hell I managed to get everyone fed, ready and out the door in my former life which also included a 9-5 job.

Ah, wouldn’t it be nice to get ready for school in peace, at least once?

Maybe next year…

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