Oh, how I long for mornings that feel like a peaceful sunrise, filled with cheerful birdsong. I dream of whipping up a wholesome breakfast for my kids and sitting down together, looking fabulous in my silk robe while sipping herbal tea, sharing fresh fruit and granola. I would trade anything for the ability to get them ready for school without feeling like I’ve just run a marathon.
To be honest, the morning routine in my household before school (each and every day) pushes me to the edge of my sanity, no matter how meticulously I prepare the night before. If the lunches are neatly packed and lined up from oldest to youngest, someone inevitably remembers a permission slip that was due three days ago, waving it in my face as I struggle to apply mascara. If I manage to get all the paperwork signed and tucked into the right binder pocket, my daughter decides that only the dirty jeans will do because “OMG, Mom, nothing else matches these shoes!” Cue the meltdown.
If somehow, all the right clothes are on my kids as they rush out the door, the lunches packed, and the paperwork signed, my youngest lets the dog out, who then bolts down the road and dives into the neighbor’s trash. My oldest is furious because his hair won’t cooperate, and I suddenly remember I was supposed to send in two dozen cupcakes for the school read-a-thon—of course, I have no cupcakes.
It’s a never-ending cycle! Every morning is a whirlwind, and my frazzled face—often with just one eye made up—is usually what my kids see as they leave. My hurried “I love you. Have a good day, but please, let’s try to do better tomorrow morning” is the last thing they hear. As I watch them walk away, I roll down the window to shout one last “I love you so much,” because I really do. My kids are my everything, and I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt seeing their backs retreat after a hectic start, often leaving me to tear up into my half-eaten toast.
I can’t help but worry that my morning chaos sets a negative tone for their day, just as it does for mine. I ponder ways to improve, to be more organized, and to send them off without threats to confiscate their devices or after-school treats. I eagerly await their return home, hoping to make things right and alleviate my guilt.
When they finally come home, I hug them and ask about their day, often giving in to an extra cookie (thanks, guilt) and pouring all my energy into prepping for the next morning. But then they start bickering, or when I ask them to help with dinner or put away their laundry, they suddenly can’t seem to hear me. Shoes get left in the middle of the floor, and I trip. The dog, having been asked five times to go out, ends up leaving me a lovely surprise in the house.
Before I know it, I’ve lost my cool yet again, because parenting is one long, tiring journey. Kids need constant reminders for everyday tasks, and they’re not quite capable of feeling the guilt that weighs heavily on us moms when things go awry. I know this to be true because at dinnertime, when I ask them about their favorite part of the day, they’ll say things like, “When you tripped over my shoes,” or “Remember when I waved that permission slip in your face and it got stuck to your lip gloss?” and we all burst into laughter.
When I apologize for my morning stress and promise to do better the next day, I often get blank stares in return. My oldest might say, “You were stressed out?” and he really means it.
To me, I’m setting the stage for their day, worrying I might ruin their education and emotional well-being because we didn’t share a serene breakfast wrapped in silk while listening to the birds. But to them, I’m simply providing the entertainment—and guess what? They still love me, even when I’m a chaotic mess.
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In summary, mornings can be a whirlwind of chaos and guilt, but somehow, amidst all the madness, love still prevails. The struggles may be real, but so is the laughter and connection we share as a family. And while I constantly strive for that peaceful breakfast scene, I realize that sometimes, just surviving the morning is an accomplishment in itself.