August 18, 2013

Anatomy of my Morning

"You wanna meet me for a morning walk?" my friend innocently asked not knowing that I was fixing to rip her  ears from her head and stuff them down her dirty talking mouth.

"I don't do mornings," I growled with a sneer that rivaled Jack Nicholson's sneer.

"C'mon," she insisted. "You'll feel better."

"Lady ... ," I growled. "Let's take a took at my morning ..."

So, here it is the breakdown of my morning:

Sometime shortly after creepers creep back to their homes but before the roosters wake, Brian's alarm goes off, and he gets up to exercise. Or creep on creepers. I don't know exactly what he does because my body would shut down if I were to rouse that early for any reason other than a fire.

Shortly thereafter, my alarm goes off. The clock says it's 6:00am, but I'm 100% certain that I have only been asleep for thirty minutes. So, I hit snooze and go back to sleep.

Then the alarm goes off again. I hit snooze, and I check my email.

Then the alarm goes off again. I hit snooze, and I check Facebook.

Then the alarm goes off again, and I finally get out of bed.

After brushing my teeth and using the restroom, I softly drift into Daughter 1's room, snapping on her lamp for a soft and slow wake-up. "Good morning, beautiful," I sweetly sing to my first born.

"Gah, Momma! It's too early. I took a shower last night, so I don't have to take one now. I'll get up when I get up!"

I walk backwards from of her room because I don't want to turn my back on the demon that has possessed my child every morning since she started middle school.

I walk into Daughter 2's room and turn on her environmentally friendly light which takes about three hours to actually work up to full brightness. "Good morning, sugar booger."


"It's time to wakey, wakey," I say as I pull he covers off.


"Girlfriend. Up."


"Morning! Get up!" I say as I pull off her pajamas.


I leave her room and hope for the best as I get into the shower.

"Momma! Can I have a sleepover tonight? Momma! Will you make me an omelet? Momma! Can We go get some new earrings? Momma! Momma! Momma!"  My shower: That wakes Daughter 2 up.

Evetually we are all up. Daughter 1 is usually watching Imagine Dragon videos all the while insisting that she'll get ready when she gets ready.

Daughter 2 is up and ready to start the day as only an ADHD squirrel doped up on speed can.

I make French Toast even though Daughter 2 "said "cinnamon toast, Momma. I swear that's what I said. Or cheese toast. Did I say cheese toast? I want cheese toast. I mean French toast."

I remember I forgot to do my make up, so I race back to the bathroom to put my face on.

I say encouraging words to Daughter 1, reminding her that she still has to pack her lunch and load her cello. She's saying words that should be recorded and played to any high school student who's thinking about having sex.

Best birth control ever? A screaming toddler or a sassy tween.

She snarls at me, "Are you doing your hair like that?" My hand goes up to my wet head and I realize I haven't done my own hair.

I go back to the bathroom and dry--sorta--my hair. Daughter 2 follows me and plugs in the crimper. She wants crimped hair this morning. Of course, she does.

Finally, when all lunches have been packed and all clothes have been donned and all hair has been brushed (even if brushed with our fingers), Brian returns invigorated. He's greeted with lots of Good morning, Daddy's, giant hugs and warm, welcoming smiles.

I snarl at him.

He showers and dresses without interruptions and makes his own breakfast to his own liking. I remember I haven't eaten breakfast, so I peel open a cheese stick.

As I finish explaining my morning routine of torture, my friend says, "WOW. Your morning is chaotic."

I nod and choke back a sob. Then it hits me.

"Maybe I should work out with you in the morning."

"Really?" she smiles.

"Yeah. But only on Saturdays and only after 10:00am."

I wonder where my kids get it...


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