I strive to be a calm and peaceful parent. Honestly, I really do. I wake up before my little ones even stir. I meditate. On most mornings, I force down a glass of lukewarm lemon water, allegedly to enlighten the bacteria in my gut or something along those lines. I take deep breaths, glance at my to-do list, and tell myself that today will be different. I won’t yell at my kids. I won’t urge them to hurry. I won’t remind them to get their heads out of their clouds. Today, I will be the epitome of a loving, patient mother. I’ve got this down.
And then they wake up.
In an instant, I’m enchanted by their sleepy faces and warm bodies; I just want to nibble on their chubby cheeks. They look so adorable with their messy bed hair and unique little scents. They cuddle up, and I wish they could stay this small forever, always loving me the most. I get that parenting is a beautiful, magical journey.
But then it’s time to actually get ready for the day.
Suddenly, they start whining. They can’t decide what they want for breakfast. Their favorite clothes are mysteriously dirty. All of our snacks are apparently the worst. Any lunch suggestions lead to chaos. The hair combing—something they’ve encountered daily—is a monumental surprise. They stand frozen, staring into space for what feels like an eternity. It’s like every shoe has vanished overnight. They can’t seem to communicate without growling at one another like wild animals. The bus will arrive in five minutes, but I know it takes them at least seven to put on their shoes, socks, and coats. Homework is suddenly “lost,” toothbrushes have disappeared, and that special rock they must have for show-and-tell? Gone. It feels like all hope is lost. I recognize that parenting can also be a total nightmare.
And just like that, I transform from the Zen mother I envisioned into someone I hardly recognize. I don’t even know who that tranquil woman was or what she was thinking. I’m not calm, kind, or patient. I’ve completely forgotten to breathe or meditate. All I can think about is how slow they’re moving. I want them to move faster than a turtle trying to cross a road. I want them to speed up like the melting polar ice caps. My mind is solely focused on that first sip of hot coffee before work. If they miss the bus, my entire morning will be derailed. And suddenly, I find myself shouting, “OMG! Hurry up!” It’s like my frantic energy acts as a magic spell that finally gets them moving.
I truly admire those calm mothers who arrive on time without raising their voices. The ones who never exclaim, “Why are my kids so slow?” and who navigate mornings without losing their cool. I honestly don’t get you, but I respect you.
But for the rest of us—the mothers who try countless parenting strategies only to find ourselves in the same chaotic boat, the ones who might drop a few choice words before 8 a.m., the ones who consistently run late no matter how early we start getting ready—you are my tribe. We love our kids fiercely but sometimes feel like squeezing them a bit too tight as they take their sweet time getting dressed. To those of us who embrace our “crazy” and call it a superpower, who find ourselves saying, “Hurry up!” and “Quit messing with your shoelaces and just put on your shoes already!”—we are in this together.
So no, I probably won’t stop telling my kids to hurry up. Because if I did, we’d never get anywhere at all.
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Summary
Parenting is a balancing act of chaos and love, especially during the morning rush. While I strive to be calm and patient, the reality often leads to frantic moments and the inevitable urging of my kids to hurry up. I find solace in knowing I’m not alone in this struggle, and together, we navigate the beautiful messiness of raising children.