On weekends and during breaks, my children seem to have a knack for rising earlier than even the most enthusiastic birds, competing for the title of “first awake.” The faintest light of dawn barely breaks before they leap into action, as if their beds are layered with energy-boosting fabric. The concept of “sleeping in” is foreign to them, unless it involves a request to do so in the living room or perhaps in a makeshift tent.
However, when school mornings roll around, that morning exuberance is nowhere to be found. Instead, they lie motionless, drooling on their pillows, as though those basic twin mattresses have cast a spell of deep slumber. I brace myself for the next 20 minutes, which I dread more than anything else.
Waking them up presents numerous challenges. The early morning hours are often the only moments of calm in my household, enveloped in a serene silence. No bickering or whining, just peaceful stillness, so to intentionally break that tranquility feels fundamentally wrong—like interrupting an orchestra with a loud horn or smearing mustard on dessert.
Over the years, I’ve gone to great lengths to keep them asleep, from tackling delivery personnel to avoid doorbell rings, to maneuvering myself out of their room in silence. After all those years of shushing, the urge to let them sleep peacefully doesn’t just vanish when they reach school age—it lingers on.
I start the wake-up process gently, throwing open the curtains to let in some sunlight, hoping it will coax them out of slumber. “Good morning!” I sing out with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. I gently stroke their arms and give soft pats on their backs, but I’m met with utter immobility—like trying to wake a stone.
With no response, I escalate my efforts. My gentle nudges turn into firm pokes, and I attempt a brisk “It’s time to wake up!” At best, I might receive a muffled groan, but more often than not, they just pull the covers over their heads, as if that will make me disappear.
Frustration mounts, and out comes my stern “mean-mom” voice, a mix of drill sergeant and tyrannical ruler: “GET UP!” By the time their eyes crack open, we’re both glaring at each other. I briefly consider whether demolishing their bedroom wall to extract them from their beds would be frowned upon.
And then there’s the added pressure of time. It’s not just about waking them; it’s about doing so efficiently. Each delay leads to a cascade of unfortunate events, including the need for me to put on a bra and endure the school drop-off line. This fear drives my determination to get them up, no matter what.
Thus, five mornings a week, I engage in this exhausting ritual. The struggle is consistent, yet once they finally awaken, they transform into relatively pleasant beings. After the initial chaos, we can proceed with our morning routine—though complaints about breakfast choices soon follow. At least they are out of bed and dressed by that point.
In conclusion, waking kids for school is a daily battle that never seems to change, yet the chaos settles as they move into their day. For those exploring family planning, you might find valuable resources on artificial insemination at Make a Mom or check out this Wikipedia article for more comprehensive information.
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