Last week, while walking back to my car after dropping three of my four kids off at school, I was struck by the amount of bleary-eyed faces I saw through the front windshields of the cars that pulled around in the carpool line in front of me. I think you all know what I am talking about.
That look of I just waged a war.
Mornings are not for the faint of heart, people.
I, too, had just experienced a test of my own sanity the very day before. I had gotten up, gotten dressed, exercised on my elliptical in my garage, emailed three of my children’s teachers regarding a scheduled absence, snuggled a wayward child in my bed, finished putting away the laundry, ran a load of delicates, unloaded the dishwasher from the night before, loaded more dishes that hadn’t fit in the previous nights’ load, responded to plus or minus 15 text messages from my Tribe, cooked breakfast, made coffee, woke the kids, prepped snacks, scheduled a book club meeting, gotten dressed again in “real clothes,” re-woke my still-sleeping children, talked to my husband, and assisted with various hair-brushing, teeth flossing, and homework reminding. And it was only 6:45am. “I got this,” I said to myself.
I sat down at that moment to take a sip of my coffee, which was, true to form, already luke-warm. Chugga-lugga. It was then that one of my four children arrived downstairs to eat breakfast at the table, sobbing.
And, I mean, sobbing. “I don’t want to go to school today. It’s just too LOOOOOONG.”
Granted, this child was still new to the Kindergartners-go-to-school-all-day-every-day routine, and clearly had not gotten enough rest last night, but, really? It was then that I heard another one of my children running down the hall, and calling me upstairs. My husband was traveling for work, so I figured I better see what was up. Leaving my whimpering son at the table, I ran upstairs, only to find his twin brother puking into the toilet. I felt his forehead. Fever. I made sure his tummy felt fine, and carried him downstairs, where I snuggled him on the couch with a blanket and a giant bowl.
Deep Breath.
I then realized that I hadn’t seen my daughter since I did her ponytail about 30 minutes before, and glanced to the kitchen where I saw her breakfast, still untouched on the table. School was starting in 30 minutes. I ran upstairs to find her engrossed in Harry Potter, and, gently-but-not-so-gently told her to get downstairs and eat. Just as I turned the corner in the hallway to head back downstairs, my four-year-old emerged from the bedroom I had earlier snuggled him in, crying for Daddy and writhing around on the floor.
OF COURSE.
“He’ll be home in a few days,” I told him as I carried him downstairs to where the infirm child, the dawdling child, and the agitated child all were. Wow. Just Wow. This morning was off to a really great start.
It was in this moment when I decided that I had a choice. I had a choice, and that was to either self-destruct, internalizing my frustration, or, to give myself grace. It was in that split-second that I chose to reach outside of myself, instead of internalizing those feelings, which, at that moment, were a giant mess of concern, guilt, fear, anger, and frustration.
Simplify
Simplify. I needed to simplify. I jumped on my phone, texting a close friend, and asked her if she could pick up my two healthy kids on her way to take her own kids to school. No problem. I grabbed a small bottle of tylenol for my feverish guy, and found some apple juice in the garage to help him swig it down.
Simplify. I grabbed my moping, school-resistant son, and snuggled him on the couch, while calling my dentist to cancel to appointment for later that morning.
Simplify. I gave my daughter a pep talk about her day, explaining that I would be coordinating a ride for her to her after-school activity.
Simplify. Once my Kindergartener started breathing regularly again, I checked in with him on his emotional state, and made plans to play a game together when he got home from school that day.
Simplify. I then gave two of my kids kisses, and turned them over to a member of my Tribe to drive them to school. Simplify.
Saying “no” to to-dos & “yes” to being present
I returned to the couch to snuggle my sickie, and get my toddler ready for preschool. Since it was only his second day of preschool ever, I knew I had to take him for routine’s sake, since he was still adjusting. He ate his breakfast, and I walked him to the car, and returned to scoop up my feverish child and snuggle him in the car with a blanket. Not ideal, but simplifying. After dropping off the toddler, we returned home. It was at this moment that I said “no” in my head to the list of “to do’s” for the morning, and “yes” to spending time with and
being there for my sick baby. We spent the morning reading some books and watching some shows and, once the fever broke, even playing a few games. It was heaven.
Moms and Dads, I know that the morning I described probably sounds all-too-familiar. Why? Because it is. With little people (or bigger people) to take care of, things sometimes go according to plan, but, most of the time, they don’t. Give yourself a break. Simplify. Call that friend and ask for help. Counsel your child, knowing that you won’t be able to solve all of their problems. Put off the errands, the lists, the chores. Give yourself permission to NOT be able to do it all.
Mornings, or days or evenings, for that matter, are not for the faint of heart. Give yourself Grace.
