Mornings should embody the gentle bliss of birds singing and the warmth of dawn. I often fantasize about preparing a wholesome breakfast for my children, sitting down with them dressed elegantly in my favorite silk robe, sipping herbal tea while sharing bowls of fresh fruit and granola.
I would trade anything for a serene morning where I could get my kids ready for school without feeling like I’ve just completed a marathon.
In reality, our daily morning routine is nothing short of a test of my patience. No matter how meticulously I plan the night before, the chaos seems inevitable. If the lunches are neatly packed and stacked from oldest to youngest, someone invariably waves a forgotten permission slip in my face, a slip that was due three days ago, while I’m struggling to apply mascara.
If I manage to sign all the necessary paperwork and ensure it’s stowed neatly in the right pocket of their binders, my daughter inevitably insists on wearing the only jeans that are dirty because, “OMG, Mom, these shoes are a must!” Cue the ensuing meltdown.
Even if the kids are dressed and ready to go, with lunches packed and all paperwork in order, my youngest will let the dog out, who then races down the street and into the neighbor’s trash. Meanwhile, my oldest struggles with hair that refuses to cooperate, and I suddenly remember that I was supposed to send two dozen cupcakes for the school read-a-thon — and of course, there aren’t any cupcakes in sight.
It seems like every morning is a frantic scramble, regardless of my efforts, and my frazzled appearance — often sporting only one eye with mascara — is usually the last thing my children see as they head out the door.
As they leave, I manage a terse, “I love you. Have a good day, but let’s try to do better tomorrow,” while rolling down the window for one last heartfelt “I love you so much.” Watching them walk away, I often feel a wave of guilt that makes me want to cry into the half-eaten toast resting on my lap. Sometimes, I actually do.
I worry that our chaotic start sets a negative tone for their day, just as it does for me. I ponder ways to improve our routine, striving for a morning that avoids threats of confiscating their devices or canceling after-school treats. I eagerly await their return, hoping to make things right and alleviate my guilt.
When they come home, I envelop them in hugs and inquire about their day. I often find myself giving in to an extra cookie (thanks to guilt) and pouring my energy into preparing for the next morning.
Yet, before long, the bickering begins. I ask for help with dinner or laundry, only to be met with blank stares or a sudden inability to move. They leave shoes strewn across the floor, causing me to trip. The dog remains unwalked after I’ve asked multiple times, leading to unfortunate accidents indoors.
It’s a continuous cycle of frustration, as parenting feels like an endless uphill battle. Children require constant reminders for daily tasks and are blissfully unaware of the guilt that mothers carry when things go awry.
During dinner, when I ask them about their favorite parts of the day, their responses often include something like, “When you tripped over my shoes,” or “When I waved my permission slip close enough to your face that it got stuck to your lip gloss.” The entire family bursts into laughter.
When I apologize for my apparent morning stress and express my desire to regain control, they look at me as if I’ve spoken in a foreign language. My oldest will often remark, “You were stressed?” in complete sincerity.
While I believe I am setting a tone that could impact their education and emotional well-being by not providing a tranquil breakfast experience, they simply view me as the source of entertainment. And despite my chaotic mornings, they continue to love me.
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In summary, the morning chaos often leaves me feeling overwhelmed and guilty, but I realize my children find humor in our daily struggles and still love me for who I am.
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