I have this idea in my head of what an ideal morning would look like. I would wake up at seven AM, fully rested (in an ideal world, I am a morning person), having gone to bed at eleven and promptly fallen asleep without medical assistance. Slipping on my slippers, I would glide down the stairs to prepare my cup of coffee and make myself scrambled eggs and toast. Once prepared, I would sit at my dining room table, with my coffee and Lucky magazine, peacefully enjoying my breakfast in total silence.
At 8:15, I would wake up my darling children, who would greet me with a smile and a, "good morning, mommy!" Bright-eyed, they would use the bathroom, remembering to flush and wash their hands. Gleefully, they would trollop down the stairs, sitting quietly at the table, hands folded, as I cook their well-balanced breakfast of organic, cage-free eggs, freshly-squeezed orange juice, organic homemade whole wheat toast, and pesticide-free fruit picked from my garden. They eat so peacefully, so quietly, sitting statue-like at the table without getting up, that I am able to take a shower, get dressed, moisturize, and blow-dry my hair without anyone creeping into the bathroom.
At 8:45, the children would rinse their BPA-free plastic plates and forks in the sink, place them in the dishwasher, and retreat to their rooms to get dressed for the day. Having chosen their clothes the night before, they will quickly put them on, including undershirts and socks. They would comb their hair, and my daughter would ask for a clip to keep her bangs out of her eyes (which she would then leave in place the remainder of the day).
We would all descend into the living room quietly, put on our shoes, coats, hats, and mittens, all of which are easily found and coordinating colors. We would pick up our bags and walk quietly out the door. Once in the car, daughter would allow me to lift her into her car seat and strap her in. My son would climb in and immediately sit in his seat, allowing me to strap him in quietly. With the turn of the engine, calm, classical music would play at a moderate volume through the speakers. We will talk, in calm voices, about what we will be doing during the day. I will arrive at my son's school on time, perhaps the second or third car in the carpool line. I would drop him off, as he hugs and kisses me goodbye and tells me he loves me. Then my daughter and I would go about our morning, running errands (during which she sits comfortable in the grocery cart as we walk slowly down each aisle, sweetly reciting the items we need).
Unfortunately, my morning is never picture-perfect. For example, this morning the kids wake up before me, and having left the gate open last night, both bound down the stairs loudly (followed by the big, black dog - notice he is missing from the ideal scenario). I open my eyes from my over-the-counter medically induced slumber, feeling like I am still half-asleep, force myself out from under the comforter quickly as my son yells up the stairs, "Mo-oom! Your daughter peed on the sofa!" (this is how he refers to his sister when she misbehaves).
I grab clean clothes for her out of the laundry basket in my room (clothes are folded, but not put away). Strip her down, clean her up, put her in clean clothes for the day. Blot the sofa with an entire roll of paper towels. I don't have time to get out the cleaner (it's already 8:20 and I have yet to shower) so after blotting, I swiftly flip the cushion over. Good as new (and look! I found the missing piece of our advent calendar). I put the dog in the (muddy) yard, pop some frozen waffles in the toaster, stop the kids from dragging a dining room chair into the kitchen, assuring them that there is no powdered sugar anywhere in the cabinet. I smack the warm, plain frozen waffles onto plates and hand them to the kids in the living room where they are playing on the computer (Disney is educational, right?)
I hop in the shower, and there is my daughter waiting for me when I get out. She has her plate with her waffle, now covered in powdered sugar (where did they find it??) with a juice box. My daughter can't stand to eat alone. She follows me into my room, where she puts her plate down and tells me she has to use the potty (again?). She strips off her tiny jeggings and Dora underwear before hopping on the potty. I then, still naked and wrapped in a towel, help her put everything back on and gently (forcefully) guide (push) her out of my bedroom and close and lock the door.
This is my quiet time.
I turn on Al Roker and the rest of the Today show crew as I scramble to put on my (non-matching) underwear, tank top, leggings ($5 from the kid's department at Target), and (wrinkled) black dress. I throw on my (OMG so comfortable) Uggs, slap some deodorant under my arms and moisturizer on my face, mousse in my hair. I spend about 2 minutes blow-drying my (super-fine and thin) hair, race down the stairs and toss my daughter (who is chasing her brother around the house, each carrying a toy sword) her Dora the Explorer boots (no socks) and we race out the door at 9:00 am, about the time I'm supposed to walk through the door at work. Meanwhile, my son has decided he can somehow magically get inside the television and will stop at nothing in this pursuit. Dressed in pretend armour, a hook on one hand and sword in the other (at least he's not in the Tinkerbell dress today), he is reciting spells. I kiss him goodbye (it's his day off school and he gets to stay home with his aunt).
It's not perfect. It's just my life.
I think someone is secretly filming it so others can watch and laugh and talk about how much more normal their lives are by comparison.
I don't think I could handle normal, though. I'm an anxiety-induced insomniac mess of a mother with an ADHD husband and they are spirited and (in my daughter's case) hyper-energetic kids.
But we wouldn't have it any other way. At least, I don't think we would.
I just wish I could enjoy my morning coffee in peace and quiet.
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