On weekends and holidays, my kids are locked in a fierce battle against those chirping birds, both vying for the title of “Earliest Riser.” The sun hasn’t even begun to peek over the horizon when they burst into action, bounding around the house as if they’ve been sleeping on energy drink-infused sheets. The concept of “sleeping in” is lost on them, unless it’s prefaced by “can we” and followed by “in the living room” or “a tent” — anywhere but their actual beds.
However, come school days, that vibrant morning enthusiasm mysteriously vanishes. Instead, they’re snoring away, sprawled out in drool puddles, treating their cheap twin mattresses like magic sleep-inducing clouds. I know that the next twenty minutes will be some of the most tense of my day because, let’s be honest, nobody enjoys this part.
Waking them up is a battle on multiple fronts. First off, the early morning is one of the rare times my house is actually peaceful, enveloped in a comforting silence. No squabbles, no whining, and definitely no blaring devices. Disrupting that calm is like throwing a pie at a masterpiece — it just feels wrong.
Over the years, I’ve done everything possible to keep them asleep, from tackling delivery drivers to prevent doorbell rings to contorting my body to sneak out of their rooms. I’ve made enough hushing sounds to fill a hot air balloon (or two). So, you can imagine how counterintuitive it feels to wake them up after years of trying to do the opposite.
I start off trying to be gentle. I open the curtains, let in some sunlight, and offer an overly cheerful, “Good morning!” like I’m channeling a cartoon character. I stroke their arms and pat their backs, hoping for a reaction. Instead, I’m met with complete stillness — they’re bed-bound boulders.
Next, I ramp up my efforts. My gentle pats turn into pokes, my nuzzles morph into nudges. “Hey, rise and shine!” I say, trying to sound upbeat. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a muffled groan; usually, they just pull the covers over their heads, as if that’ll make me disappear.
This only escalates my frustration, leading me to unleash my “mean-mom” voice, a mix of drill sergeant and villain: “GET! OUT! OF BED!” By the time they finally open their eyes, we’re all glaring at each other. I sometimes wonder if bulldozing through their bedroom wall like the Kool-Aid Man to scoop them up would be frowned upon.
And as if this ordeal isn’t enough, it’s a school morning — I’m racing against the clock. If I don’t get them up, dressed, fed, and out the door promptly, it leads to a chain reaction of disasters, like the horror of putting on a bra and enduring the drop-off line. This fear drives me to ensure they won’t miss that bus, no matter what.
So, this is my life, five mornings a week, as much as it sucks for everyone involved. They remain consistently resistant to getting out of bed on weekdays. Once they finally wake up, they’re actually decent little humans, and once my blood pressure returns to normal, we can dive into our morning routine. From there, it’s relatively smooth sailing — well, until they start complaining about breakfast options, but at least they’re dressed by the time they do it.
For more insights on parenting and home life, check out our other blog post on intracervicalinsemination.com and for more fertility resources, visit progyny.com and makeamom.com.
In summary, waking kids for school is a daily struggle filled with noise, frustrations, and a race against time. Yet, once they finally emerge from their slumber, the morning routine can flow smoothly — at least until the next complaint arises.