If you were a fly on the wall in my house in the morning, you would probably look for the nearest open window and get the hell out. If it’s winter, you are screwed. Find a corner and play dead.
It’s never pretty, and much like our “bedtime routine,” is always the same. A circus show that ends with at least one child crying and me transforming from the hopeful positive mother into the bitch that I despise. I hear myself yelling…again. I hate it.
I try so hard when my alarm clock goes off to put my best foot forward and greet the day with a new attitude, despite the less than optimal sequence of events that occurred just 10-12 short hours earlier at bedtime. It’s a new day and I am determined to set the tone.
I use my best sing-song voice, “Good morning children! Time to wake up. Carpe diem!” (or something a bit less obnoxious). Guess what? They don’t want to get up yet. Seriously? They have had 12 hours of sleep. On the weekends, they get up at the ass crack of dawn and we purposely let them stay up well past their normal bedtime just to avoid this. You know what kids, “I don’t want to be up yet either. I have nowhere to be today. I got up to get YOU up because you actually have something to do today. It’s called school…and you ARE going. Get. Up.”
I do my absolute best to avoid chaos in the morning. Lunches are packed the night before, backpacks are zipped with permission slips enclosed, coats and boots are laid out to avoid any last minute MIA cries. No matter how hard I try to make the ship run smoothly, there is always a snag. We could get up 3 hours prior to the time that we have to leave and the last ten minutes prior to walking out the door would still end the same. Mommy threatening to leave without them, 2 hysterical girls that think I will actually do it, and my 2 year old son, who has taken his coat off 3 times and continues to run away from me screaming because he knows that he doesn’t get to go to school. Instead, he has to get all bundled up, get in a cold van, and sit in the endless line of annoyed parents in the “drop off zone” at school, just to come back home and be stuck in the house with a now crabby mother and the annoying fly that can’t seem to find his way out. “Don’t worry Buddy. Mommy will kill the fly.”
Today’s exit was no exception to the rule. My middle child was having an absolute meltdown. She has some moderate issues with sensory processing. Everything has to feel just right. No tags, no seams, no buttons, etc. More recently she has an issue with her shoes. They don’t feel right. As a result, she has been sneaking her older sister’s shoes into her backpack to change into when she gets to school. They are 3 sizes larger than the 8 pair of shoes that she has in her closet that actually fit her.
I found them in her backpack today. I took them out. Her reaction was as if I had just cancelled her birthday. To prove my point, I asked her to try them on. Her big toe barely made it to the middle of the shoe. “You cannot wear these shoes honey. They are way too big. You are going to trip, and more importantly, your teacher is going to think your mom is crazy.”
There is no reasoning with this child. She is a force to be reckoned with and more stubborn than her mother…which is really saying something. We are now 7 minutes away from being late for school. It is clear that I am not going to win this argument. “Get in the van.”
She went to school wearing clown shoes…again.