Routines which include early morning yoga, quinoa cereal, egg whites, gourmet breakfasts lovingly prepared for gracious family members, and vegan muffins - and spin class. And do not contain any yelling OR swear words.
Clearly, I'm doing it wrong. I thought, for kicks, I'd jot down my morning.
4:04 - Wake bolt upright, convinced I've overslept. Grab for my phone, check the time, realize I have to pee like nobody's business, and convince myself I can deal with it for another hour. Lay back down and stare into space for the next 30 minutes until I drift off, listing the day's activities in my head.
5:03 - Close enough. Get out of bed, grab my glasses so I can actually see something, complete the personal stuffs, and go downstairs. Read emails. Check the Google calendar - 12 things for today. Hmmmmm. Start at the beginning, is my motto - Turn on the Keurig, go to the laundry room. Transfer clothes to the dryer. Start the dryer. Realize there's a sweater in there that can't be dried, lest it resemble a Barbie outfit. Blame the lack of coffee and restart the dryer.
Is the Keurig ready yet? WTH. Why is it taking so long - oh, good. Push the button to dispense the life giving goodness (which is Peet's Uzuri African with Raw Sugar, so a quarter prance above Maxwell House, but not too high on the pretentious scale) and start the countdown.
WHY is this taking so long? Open the dishwasher and start putting away the clean dishes. Try not to think about the coffee. Hurry, hurry. Come ON.
At last, the coffee is done. Grab the mug and suck down about half of it. Finish the dishwasher, start packing the lunches.
5:34 - Cursing ensues, because despite repeated nagging, no one can manage to actually PUT the used ice packs back in the freezer the night before. Toss in drinks, fruit, veg, granola bars. Heat up a glass measuring cup of water and use the hot water to fill a thermos for a shortie who wants soup.
5:45 - First kid wake up attempt. No movement from the beds. None. Go back downstairs with the dirty wash from two bedrooms, toss it in, start the machine. Check my email.
6:00 - Start making smoothies. One kids gets a a chocolate milk smoothie, one gets choc banana and spinach, and two get peach/mango/spinach. Yell upstairs a second wake up demand. Nothing. No groans, no movement - nothing.
6:05 - Pop 3 bagels in the toaster. Listen for noises from the sleepers. Nothing. Drain the coffee and make another cup. Commence to wake up, round three. It's a little more agressive, and I've started to threaten the dreaded "Mom will play Reveille on her phone if you don't get up" card. One kid rises.
6:10 - Fold three baskets of wash, interspersed with, "GET OUT OF BEDDDDDDDDD" and "I REALLY MEAN IT NOW!" Threaten with a spray bottle of water and the dreaded Reveille.
6:18 - Finally, all four kids are moving. And, of course, because everyone delayed - there's a back up for the preferred bathroom.
6:30 - Three of the four are at the table, picking desparingly at breakfast. They've become accustomed to the smoothies, but today, it's the bagels causing grief. They aren't the right kiiiiiinnnndddd.
Ponder pouring a shot in my coffee.
Commence Lamaze breathing.
6:35 - Take your medicine, please. Yes, you. And you as well. Deep breathe.
6:40 - Realize that the two ChromeBooks weren't put on the charger last night, and attempt to discreetly plug them in. One shortie sees and tears begin to fall, for OMG, she forgot AGAIN (it's not my job, it's theirs) and HOW COULD SHE BE SOOOO DUMB, and I'm really regretting the lack of shots about now.
6:45 - Take your medicine. Drink your smoothie!
6:50 - DRINK IT NOW. And take your medicine! Pray I don't pass out from all the deep breathing.
6:55 - Realize that the face wash is in the upstairs bathroom (both bottles, instead of one being downstairs) and an older kid is showering. Pick the lock, yell out, "I'm coming in! Don't get out!", grab the renegade face wash, and instruct the kid to GO WASH YOUR FACE NOW, YOU HAVE TO LEAVE IN FIVE MINUTES, OMG, what is taking so long? Yes, you have to wash your face!
6:57 - Send the shorties upstairs to make their beds and grab socks.
6:59 - Hear the cheers (literal cheers, someone is practicing her cheerleading) and go upstairs to find one shortie sprawled on an unmade bed, and one cheering - no socks on. Commence to lose my damned mind.
7:02 - Yes, you have to use toner on your face. Here is the clindamyacin for the acne - yes, put it on, yes, all over your face, I don't have time to argue, put on your hand cream, grab your smoothie, TAKE YOUR MEDICINE, here's your lunch, do you have your EpiPen in your pocket, do you have your watch, do you have your phone, go, go go!
7:03 - Two kids out of the house, two to go. Debate with myself - do I really need to get dressed to drive carpool? Does that include a bra? Whyyyyyy? Tell myself to be a grown up and get dressed, but comfort myself with the reality that I can wear slippers! Put on workout clothes because I KNOW I will exercise if I do, hahahaha, tell the shorties to get coats/shoes/bookbags/instruments/lunches/library books/ChromeBooks and wait by the door.
7:05 - Stop crying and I will help you brush your hair! Stop crying, stop crying, PLEASE stop with the tears already, I cannot do this.
7:07 - Hunt for a pen to sign the papers from school, including the report cards. No, we are not going to Krispy Kreme, even if they will give you a donut for every A. Yes, I'm super mean, I know, still not going.
7:10 - Drop stuff in the blender for the husband's smoothie. Debate the wisdom of a third cup of coffee. No time.
7:12 - Get in the truck. Send one shortie back for a lunch. Send a second shortie back for a library book. Pat myself on the back because I didn't yell.
7:20 Drive off. Go back for the forgotten instrument. Drive off again, after a running tally of all the needed items and an, "Oh, my God, mom, you are so annoying!" Start the daily guilt trip - it's a specialty. Stop and pick up carpool, and listen to the 5th graders realize that today is the dreaded puberty talk. Realize I really are the meanest mom ever, because I find the resultant distress hysterically funny.
7:36 - Stop at the school and instruct the kids to "open the door, drop and roll." Lose patience with parents who get out of the car, walk around, place the backpack on the kid's back, fluff the hair, hand the lunch box, kiss both cheeks, zip the jacket, and tie the scarf. Realize I really and truly am a horrible person and vow to do something about that later. When I have more time.
Which is never. The 12th of Never. Jot it on the calendar.
7:50 - Arrive home. Spend the next 20 minutes getting the husband out of the house. Transfer the laundry again, start bread dough for ham and cheese roll ups, go ahead and have that third cup of coffee. Grab two mini pumpkin pies for breakfast. Consult the 52 index cards on my desk, on which I have notes to myself, and start to plan my day. Realize that I've got enough planned to comfortably fill 18 hours.
8:30 - Sit down at the computer to start work for the day and realize I will spend the next 8 hours putting off the need to pee - just exactly the way I started the day.