There was a time in my life when I struggled to get no one but myself out the door to work before 8:00 am. My alarm started bugging me at around 6:30 and I'd hit snooze twelve or thirteen hundred times before finally mustering up the energy to slide out of bed, into the shower, and would eventually find my way to my car and on my way to work.
These days, I launch myself out of bed at about 5:30am (after having already been up at 2:00ish for Punkin's middle of the night snack), brush my teeth and throw my hair in a ponytail before my husband gets in the shower. I spend the next few hours directing my children through the paces of our morning routine before leaving the house starving, tired, and trying to remember if I'm wearing the clothes I slept in the night before or if what I have on was slept in two nights ago.
The morning routine is, at best, a circus. Punkin is up at 5:30 for no reason other than he's bored of sleeping. I play with him in our bedroom until around 6:30, when Peach comes in demanding her morning shows. She narrates the Mickey Mouse episode of the morning while I gently remind her that it's about time to brush teeth and get dressed.
Sometime around 7:00 I manage to coax her into her bathroom where she brushes her teeth by herself, without help from me, because she knows how to do everything better than I ever could (if this is a preview of her teen years, we're in big trouble). Then the three of us go into her bedroom where I gently suggest that she puts on the outfit she picked out the night before (my time saving idea). That outfit is rejected about 50% of the time. It's place is usually taken by her interpretation of fashion (this morning it was a pair of leggings with pastel flowers printed on it, an orange shirt, pink socks with purple and white stripes, and silver party shoes).
The breakfast negotiations begin while I silently come to terms with the fact that she's going to leave the house in that outfit. Today she wanted blueberry muffins and Peeps. I counter-offered whole grain pancakes and pears. We finally landed on muffins, yogurt, and mandarin oranges.
Breakfast is eaten at a snail's pace while I threaten to turn the tv off. I beg her for ten minutes to put her socks and shoes on (I'm unable to do it while she watches tv because I'm holding the baby and she clearly recognizes the weakness), tell her to say goodbye to Handy Manny, wiggle her into her jacket, and strap Punkin into his car seat at about 8:00.
That's usually when he poops.
Peach's jacket immediately comes off and we say hello to Handy Manny again. I run to change Punkin' diaper and, on morning's like today, return to the kitchen to find Peach happily finishing off the Peeps.
As I rinse the pink sugar from her fingers it occurs to me that my husband gets in the shower ta 6:00 and is out the door 30 minutes later.
My routine is almost a 3 hour process.
At least her teachers will be the ones to suffer the consequences of the Peeps instead of me.
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3 comments:
OMG, I swear you are in my head sometimes. Our routine is very much just like that.
Peeps sound like my version of Fruit Roll Ups. When my boys were little we'd go to the store, I'd give in to the begging and buy Fruit Roll Ups. They were put in the Cereal/Snack Cabinet. Every time they ate them I would yell at them because they are not fruit... just sugar and garbage. One day I realized that I did not have to buy them... Fruit Roll Ups became a metaphor for all things I opted not to buy that would cause me to yell at my kids when they ate or used them later. Instead of saying, "No, you can't have an x box" I said "No, that's a Fruit Roll Up" and they knew just what I meant. No argument about Peeps for breakfast if they are not in the cabinet...
I agree, Lauren (in so much that I usually hide the contraband so I don't have to keep saying no). These were a part of an easter basket gift... she saw them before I could hide them away!
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