Morning people

I am not a morning person. I'm not much of a night person either. More of a middle-of-the-day kind of gal. Say, 9-3.

Anyway, mornings are hard for me. I have a routine, and I like to follow it. It doesn't require thought, or choices (except to decide what to wear, which is bad enough). It definitely doesn't require conversation. Things are better that way.

I get up. I shower. Contacts in. Clothes on. Makeup on. Pack my lunch. Leave.

Well, that would be my routine if I didn't have children. Children do unpredictable things. They ask questions. They interrupt. They move things. They require me to think. And they can't stick to a timed-schedule to save their lives.

Its very uncharitable, and very un-mommy-like to resent my children for being themselves. But I'm human and it's not quite 9 yet. And I didn't sleep well last night (Does Fitz's Root Beer have caffeine? Last time I take that chance after 9pm...).

This morning, Charlotte and I got in a fight about a bagel. My husband had already left for work, the one day a week that he has an early meeting and I drop off kids at daycare. Mostly by herself, Char got the bagel toasted and spread with cream cheese, and we had about 10 minutes before we needed to be in the car and driving. My lunch wasn't packed (or my breakfast...I never get to eat at home before work), and I hadn't had so much as a sip of water since last night. She tried to insist that I cut her bagel into tiny, bite-sized pieces. I suggested that she just pick it up and bite into it. But she didn't want to get her face messy.

About then, Trystan threw his oatmeal bowl on the floor, and wanted out of his booster seat. He was covered in oatmeal. While I'm trying to tell Charlotte to just eat her bagel or she will have to leave it (in an increasingly loud tone of voice), Trystan was refusing to let me wash his face and hands and tummy and hair in the kitchen sink, and ended up smearing oatmeal all over my clean shirt.

Char pouted. And tried to get a knife out of the drawer (her 3rd for the bagel preparation). I took it away. She threw a tantrum. I tried to hand her one of the other 2 bagel knives (one that had a better chance of actually cutting the thing, and that lacked a sharp point). She pouted in the living room. I went upstairs to change my shirt. I changed Trystan's shirt. Trystan screamed and insisted that I hold him so he could snuggle. He's becoming more and more sensitive to emotions every day, and is beginning to get upset when the rest of us are upset.

Gah. I packed my lunch one-handed. Charlotte ate half her bagel (uncut) and nicely put the rest in the fridge. Both kids were calm and content by the time we got into the car, at least 10 minutes later than I wanted to leave.

I grouched all the way to work, resentful that the kids can't just do what they're told without arguing, and guilty that I'm not calm and patient and motherly in the mornings.