Wednesday, December 4, 2013

I Could be a Morning Person if Morning Happened at Noon.

This precious wonderfulness is a plea for mom solidarity. Please friends, tell me, lie to me if you have to, but I must know that there are others out there living the same sort of fresh hell I am each morning.

I am not a morning person. Or a night person. For the love of baby moses, I have three kids under 8 years old. But mornings are especially awesome up in this house.

Let me give you the visual of my morning.

5:07 am, my bed shakes violently. I wake up with a start and lay there wondering, was that one of those weird falling-dream-wake-ups? As I wait for the fog to clear, another earth shaking jolt hits. I lean over and take a look at what on God's green earth is happening.

It's my precious, sweet baby loveliness, middle son. He's standing there, with his head down, backing up slowly from the bed. In confusion I look, squinting, wondering what I am seeing. He backs up and rushes forward again and head butts the side of my mattress. With pure angry confusion I look at this madness and he begins to back up again. Going in for another head butt.

In utter bewilderment and with my 38 year old, vision correcting lense-less eyes I say in a low serious voice, "why are you head-butting our bed??! It is 5:07 IN THE MORNING!  Stop it!!"

He looks at me and says, "But I have a cough."

Oh. Ok. That makes sense. Sure, a cough warrants head-butting my bed at 5:07. A. M.

I tell him, "Go back to bed. It's 5:07 and I can't give you Benadryl at 5 in the morning. You'll be fine. Prop up your head and close your eyes."

This was the most mother-nurturing wisdom I could muster. (feel free to use this pearl anytime)

I close my eyes and begin slipping back to sleep and I begin to feel my covers slipping slowly, steadily off. I jerk them back. They begin sliding off slowly again. I am now aware of a second small human by my bed.

At this moment, I fear my face will split open and an alien will come out and drag these poor babies back to their room when I the two year old say, "Mom, I want juice."

All hope is lost. This sleep is over, the ship is sunk. There is no redeeming the formally peaceful sleep, so I trudge off to the kitchen to serve food to the squalling people who have taken over my house.

I stand in the kitchen with my oldest melting down about how he hates his life because he can't eat granola bars. His life is a miserable sack of poo because he is allergic to nuts. There is no greater misery on planet earth than this. HOW DARE I buy granola bars for the other children to eat and mock him.

I tell him they are not mocking him and begin reciting the offerings I can manage to create at 5:23 in the morning.

cereal? bagel? eggs? poptart? and those fall into the Herculean-effort category.

He sits down pitifully with his bowl of cereal and as all three sit at the counter (because eating anywhere else in this house is forbidden. Don't ask- I'm still recovering from the donut in the couch cushion drama) they launch into a screaming, arguing tirade. Words, insults, and perhaps an object or two are being hurled at each other's faces.

At that moment,  my morning-loving, happy-faced husband walks into the kitchen and I do the most mature, normal, loving thing. I look straight into his face and say, "I'm OUT. I want peace in this house. I NEED peace!"

Tim takes in the scene and tells the children in no uncertain terms, "if you refuse to give us peace in this house, we will sell you on ebay". or some such.

I can threaten, beg, plead, and punish all day long and nothing, nada... Egg thrown into the side of first born's face.

So Tim gets all three into shape and all are crying and sad. I look at him and say, "It makes me sad when they are sad."

Bless him. He can't win. He probably thinks I am straight crazy. And let me tell you, I can lay me down some crazy.

But in the spirit of mom solidarity I want you to know, if your house is anything like mine, it's a daily struggle. I mean some mornings I'd do better facing the rodents of unusual size in the fire swamps.

And if your kids skip arm in arm at 7:30 am to the breakfast table in love and sibling bonding, I'm sorry, we can't be friends. I cannot even begin to relate to your peaceful bliss. I am just trying to make it out of the bog of eternal stench.


joy said...

Well goodness sake, Tara - you 3 girls were always such sweet angels at breakfast - what happened to yours? You are loved - Mom

scootingranny said...

Sorry I can offer no advice. I'm too busy laughing. LOVE YOU!!

Cheyanne said...

And THIS is why you are my friend. Specifically when you say I'm done and tell him to handle it only to feel bad when he actually does handle it bc they're now sad. Haha! Can't tell you how many times that has happened to me. Mornings.Are.The.Worst!

Heidi said...! Sorry I can't relate. Ha!

Anonymous said...

Nobody acts right in this house before school, either. I'm the first one to act up (me: NOT a morning person), then big brother and little sister are at each other either over blankets or tv shows, typically. I basically feel like I'm being dragged out of bed asked to be AWESOME and do EVERYTHING awesomely at 3 in the morning every day. It's not 3, but it darn sure FEELS like 3.

And then big brother doesn't listen until I repeat something TEN TIMES and at a much louder volume... then he asks why I'm yelling at him to put his shoes on. "Because you didn't hear the first 9 times I asked like a sweet person."

Then I feel guilty.

And it just goes on repeat every single day.