Thursday, October 1, 2009

From 6:30 to 8 am most days

No one can warn you the toll motherhood will take. You think you know but when it's your turn it's a whole new ball game. Before kids I woke up and took care of number one. Now things are different.

Here's a rundown of my Monday through Friday morning routine:

Before my eyes even begin to open in the morning I hear the pitter patter of little feet and not so little feet ransacking my kitchen, stealing my clothes and ripping each other's heads off.

"You weren't even going to wear this!!!"

"I don't care! It's MINE!"

"MOOOOOOOM!!! Mom, Serena won't let me...."

You DO understand that this is my daily alarm clock at 6:30am, right? My eyes have not begun to open when the younger two jump in bed with me. It's a sweet experience until one of them inevitably says, "Ew Mama! You need to brush your teeth! Yucky! *cough cough*". They say it as if they didn't smell like piss and puppy breath themselves.

Into the bath they go. As they soak I jump into the shower for less than one minute. If the shower goes over a minute I hear the beginnings of battle ship down.

"Mama!! Tyson threw his toy at me!"

"But Maya tried to drown me with her leg!"

I get out of the shower and begin to scrub them, a towel wrapped tightly around my body. I scrub teeth, hair, and the private precious areas in seconds. Sometimes I lose my towel in the process but I must put my shoulder to the wheel and not shirk my duties so the towel is just a detail. Naked mama reporting for duty, SIR!

"Get out of the tub," I say. "I laid out your clothes last night. Get dressed so I can comb your hair."

Next I know Thing 1 and Thing 2 are running naked races up and down the hallway whilst shrieking like wild animals.

"I don't have a penis!," Maya chants.

"Daddy does!" yells Tyson in defense.

And they just keep running.

"GET OVER HERE AND GET DRESSED NOW! You're going to be late for school!"

I have to get forceful sometimes or my children would make Lord Of the Flies resemble child's play.

Enter older girls (wearing my $60 tee-shirts):

"Mom, I forgot to tell you...."
(This is where I'm supposed to make up for the fact my child has forgotten to inform me of some major detail that must be addressed immediately. ) I'm still wiping sleep from my eyes.

My husband walks in with a workout high so cheerful I have the urge to
destroy something valuable. Like his face.

"Hey, honey, don't forget to blah blah blah and why don't you come over and make out with me for a minute."


It's all I can to do hold it together in the morning. It's just now occurring to me that if I ran out of the house naked, screaming "I don't have a penis!" that maybe someone might capture me and relocate me to a comfy green room with soft music and Valium distribution.

Instead of running, I calmly make breakfast, write letters to teachers excusing my children from whatever they don't want to do and I pray. I always always pray. If I don't pray someone will suffer. I need the power of calm sent from above.

I load my children in the car with the knowledge that the same Taylor Swift song will be repeating itself all the way to school and back accompanied by squeaky little early morning voices. It's my own brand of torture but I must always be the supportive mother.

"Sounds pretty, girls!" I say.

Dropping them off at school is always a bitter sweet experience. I've succeeded once again in escorting my offspring to school on time and fairly unscathed. My heart aches a bit at the hardships children face in school and that I'll not see them for several hours. But I consol myself with the fact that I cannot sheild them from everything. I am also happy because 8am means 32oz diet coke time. Ahhhh!

"Mama, why you look tired when you just woked-ed up?" asked Maya from her car seat.

"I don't know, baby. What do you want to do today?"