We lay the clothes out the night before.
Lunches are pre-packed, though admittedly, sometimes I fail at this.
More than one alarm is set.
I shower at night to save time.
I even pick out MY clothes the night before.
But morning after morning, I feel as though I’m hitching a ride on the struggle bus. I feel harried and rushed. Disorganized. The clock is ticking. I don’t want the kids to be late for school (again). And every time I feel as though we are making good time, inevitably, someone needs more milk, or can’t locate their hat and gloves, or is upset I cut their waffle into 4 pieces instead of 2, or needs to change out of a perfectly good pair of socks because the original pair “feels weird.”
Mornings are (or used to be) my best time of day. Once night time hits, not even my new obsession with “The Masked Singer” can keep me awake past 9:30. My sons take after their mama. They are usually awake between 6:30 and 7. So we don’t run late because they’re sleeping in. My husband and I tackle mornings together and school is only 5 minutes away. Yet, there never seems to be enough time.
Inexorably, something always draws me away, something I need to do. The permission slip for the field trip, or the kids beckoning for us to help squeeze the last stubborn bit of toothpaste from the tube. We are constantly pulled in a million different directions. It’s like my husband and I are playing a never-ending game of catch up… and losing.
So what is it about mornings? My fellow blogger Chelsea recently shared some tips for helping to ease those morning stressors. But even with great “hacks” like these, I’m still riding that struggle bus. My patience is regularly tested. Many mornings I feel exhausted before I even take one step out the door. Nothing I do to try to mitigate the rushing and the pressure of mornings seems to help. On top of that, sometimes I question myself the minute I drop them off at the back door of the school.
“I really didn’t get to talk to them much this morning.”
“Oh shoot, did they brush their teeth? I think they did. Maybe? I don’t remember!”
“I should’ve given them one more hug and kiss before sending them off.”
“Maybe I should have packed them an extra bottle of water.”
At the risk of sounding cliche, I remind myself that the days are long but the years are short. Too short. One day there will be young men in the house. Young men who I’ll catch guzzling milk straight from the gallon, who will probably try to go out the door in shorts on a 20 degree day, who can cut their waffle however they’d like, and who will probably wear the only clean pair of socks they can find, and they probably won’t even match…or actually be clean for that matter. Young men who won’t need their Mom & Dad’s help to get ready for school on time.
There will come a day, as hard as it is to imagine now, that I’ll miss these rides on the struggle bus.
