Morning Madness

It’s only the second week of school for my three kids. However, I shall refer to it as battle day seven in this 36 week war….
I spend 15-20 minutes of precious, limited morning time just trying to get all three kids out of bed! It goes something like this:
“Morning kiddos! It’s time to wake up!”
Second time: “C’Mon guys! You need to get up!”
Round 3: “You all need to get out of bed NOW!”
Fourth round: “TIME IS TICKING!! WE ARE GOING TO MISS THE BUS, PEOPLE!!!”
It seems that they have invisible remotes and they push the MUTE button. (I know their hearing is 100%-the audiologist said so!) I can hear the words coming out of my mouth but not one child acknowledges them! It isn’t until I’m practically banging my head against the wall that they finally realize they even have a mother (she does exist!) Slowly but surely they each begin to rise (like zombies from the dead, I swear)
Once they’re all up a new slew of craziness begins, which usually goes like this:
“I don’t want to wear THAT dress!” (one daughter only wears dresses-this is NOT negotiable! I’ve lost that battle) Daughter #2 (twin A) is a bit easier to please-she dresses like Punky Brewster-get her some bright pants with a shirt (doesn’t even have to match) and she’s usually happy. However, the shoes are inevitably an issue-“Those shoes hurt my feet!”, “I want to wear my big (high top) tennis shoes, not these shoes!”
At this point I couldn’t care less if she wears shoes at all!
Then there’s my eight-year-old son…he’s been going to school for four years now, you’d think he’d get it by now (not so much!)
“Mom! I don’t want THAT for breakfast! I don’t know what I want!” “What do we have?” (This doesn’t change! We have the same things we had yesterday and the day before that and the day before that!) It isn’t until I’m on the verge of a serious internal crisis that he makes his final breakfast decision (as if I’m asking if he’d like to donate a kidney or an eye today). It’s just breakfast for goodness sake! It shouldn’t be this hard!
We successfully (but barely) make it through breakfast. Afterwards, it’s time to brush teeth! My daughter (who only wears dresses) refuses to go into the bathroom by herself!
“I’m too scared to be in there by myself!” (Huh? Scared of what!? The bathroom isn’t some dark dungeon!)
My son practically gives himself a pep-talk on his way to brush his teeth!
“Why do I have to brush my teeth?!” (Well, it’s called good hygiene, period!)
“What’s hygiene again?! (JUST BRUSH YOUR TEETH!)
I swear he will stand in front of that mirror, toothbrush in hand, for five minutes (seems like months) contemplating the whole ordeal (I’m not asking him to solve algebraic equations. I just want him to brush!)
I’m wiped out at this point but I still have to brush the girls hair. I DETEST brushing (Punky Brewster) twin A’s hair!
“OUCH! That hurts!” “Why are you trying to hurt me?” (because seriously, I find great joy in hearing you whine and cry with every brush stroke, as if I’m ripping out her fingernails one by one) It’s so bad that my husband actually suggested (more than once) that we get her checked out by a doctor because her head is so sensitive. (“Maybe there’s something wrong with her nerve endings, he says) It’s quite possible that I might get her head shaved before the year ends (time will tell).
Out of bed, dressed (almost), fed, lunches packed, teeth & hair brushed…we are making progress, people! All that’s left is socks (I won’t even go into the sock issue in our house-that’s an entire blog post in itself), shoes, water bottles (which I almost always forget because I’m still recovering from the teeth brushing drama), and book bags.
Would you believe that two out of three kids will walk out the front door WITHOUT their book bags! (REALLY?!?! What exactly did we all just get up and battle for? We aren’t going to the beach!) I grab the bags left behind and run out the door. We make it to the bus stop (only seconds to spare)…SUCCESS! I feel accomplished (I’m sure this is how an attorney feels after winning a big trial! I wonder if Jose Baez has kids?)
I watch them board the bus. I’m not sure if I should jump for joy or cry (it’s a thin line). I give a friendly wave to the bus driver, silently thanking him for driving them to school (because then I don’t have to hear them fighting over who sits where & “He’s kicking my seat!”) They drive off…
I am exhausted and it’s not even 8:30AM. I need a nap or a shot of tequila (maybe both)!!

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