Morning Madness and Bathroom Battles

I want to murder my alarm clock.  I don’t just want to turn it off.  I actually want to take a sharp object and drive it straight through the middle of the blasted beeping box.  Turning it off just doesn't not seem substantial enough because no matter how many times I turn it off, it always beeps again.  I just want to stay warm under the covers with my husband and cats until well-rested children clamber over me for hugs and breakfast.  I want to get up and make cinnamon roll turkeys and bask in the joy of staying at home with my children.    However, that is simply not to be.  He goes first, stumbling and groaning into the kitchen to hit the button on the coffee pot.  We keep talking about quitting coffee, smashing the pot, and becoming those well-hydrated healthy parents that function on their own vigor and and not caffeine fumes.  I’ll believe it when we do it.  Finally, once my husband turns off the fan, I am out out of bed, stumbling and racing the clock.  Clothes, shoes, into the bathroom and out again.  We have one bathroom and four people stumbling out the door every morning.  Basic bodily functions trump my eyeliner at all times.  I try not to be bitter as I pick up the next task, silently chanting in my head, don’t forget to finish your make-up.  I have left for work half done before and arrived to stares and whispers.  There is no one more unforgiving of flaws in the appearance than middle school girls.  Out my husband comes holding my glasses.  Since the day I forgot my classes and didn't clue in until route 70 looked a bit fuzzy, he has made remembering those his responsibility.  Now the kids are awake and the bathroom wars begin in earnest.  One races ahead of the other and the “I gotta go” dancing starts.

“Get Dressed”

“I have to Pee”

“You can’t put your pants on while you wait?”

“Good-bye Honey”

“Where are my shoes?”

A short form slides past me as I try to sneak into the bathroom to yank my hair into a clip.  Oh well, pack up the lap top that I would like to hurtle out of a window.  Only two more days until I am off for a week.  Maybe I'll make cinnamon turkeys then but probably not.  The first two days will probably be spent staring at a wall and regaining my missing stamina. 

“ Put on your hat”

“I can’t find my glasses”

“You are wearing them Mommy”

My head spins with visions of bathrobes and cinnamon bun turkeys.  That is not the life we know.  I don’t think that my kids would know what to do without the crush of time and the manic pace.  

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet”

“I like them this way”

Finally my make-up is done.  I am hastily throwing my lunch into a bag.  Somehow, I don’t manage to pack my own lunch in the evenings.  I am frantically searching for my key.  My daughter finds the keys in the fridge.  Bags of cereal are deposited into well-trained hands and we are off.  Late as usual but with hugs and kisses and lots of love.