Phyllis at The Napkin Hoarder wrote out her morning routine after being inspired by this recent article in Forbes. I’ll be perfectly honest here: The routines articulated in this article make me feel like I am doing everything wrong. 4:45am wake up? Nope. I was likely up until at least midnight. Maybe I was writing or prepping for the following day (what is this nonsense?!) but more than likely I was trying to beat another damn level on Frozen Free Fall. Organic food and free trade coffee? Uhh, no…I’m sorry? I’m lucky if my husband hasn’t grabbed the last Keurig pod on his way out of the house at an ungodly hour. I forgive him for it, mostly, because he has to leave the house before 6am. Working out? Unless putting Spanx on counts or doing a thousand laps up and down our stairs because I’m not organized in the morning. These women put me to shame.
In case you didn’t guess, I’m not a morning person.
These are all probably reasons I’m not a CEO of some fabulous company. No, seriously guys, if this morning is any indication, you should be frightened if I ever was slotted to take over a huge company. Or even a small company. Wait, no. Let’s make that any company.
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5:00am - Wake up because my husband’s alarm has already gone off three times. Tell him in my “nice” I’m trying to sleep voice, to stop pressing the damn button and get the hell out of bed. He grumbles at me, and tells me to just go back to sleep. I’M TRYING, man. The magical ring of your Blackberry alarm keeps waking me up. He concedes and gets out bed, but not before turning on the lights and laughing when I groan and dive under the covers. I move my daughter over to his side of the bed because I’d like to have at least two hours of sleep without someone kicking/snuggling/touching me. It doesn’t matter anyway, within seconds she’s almost on top of me again.
7:00am - Alarm goes off. I don’t press snooze. I hate snooze. If I want to sleep later, I set it later before I go to bed. I check on my email and other notifications and then wonder why I even bother because most of the time it’s just spam mail. I make a mental note to change my filter later that day. Confession: I won’t do it today. I will make the same mental note tomorrow morning and the next. And likely, the next.
7:15am - Get up, go to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. Throw my hair into a messy bun, thinking I should just cut my hair again, while also making a mental checklist of the things I need to do today. We have dance class today, and I silently praise Baby Jesus when remembering the Dance Mom who gave me two of her daughter’s old uniforms. I won’t be bested by my four year old’s disappearing act that involves her dance leotard. I’m already winning the day and I’ve only been up for 15 minutes! I also remember I need to register the kids for swim lessons in January. I also need to find my glasses because I haven’t seen them or much else for weeks.
7:20am- I go back to our room, turn on the light, and hope that might make my daughter up. It doesn’t so I loudly pick out clothes for the kids from the laundry baskets of clean laundry that I didn’t manage to fold the night before. I still have at least four more loads to go. I hate laundry. I also hate picking through the piles so I make a promise to fold them all tonight. Maybe while I watch Scandal or Parenthood? Yeah, that’s a good plan. One I probably won’t execute because tweeting about those shows is way more important. I lay the clothes out on my bed so I can send my son downstairs to get dressed after breakfast.
7:25am- Since the light didn’t wake my daughter up, I gently shake her and tell her she needs to start waking up so we can take her brother to school. She groans at me and puts her head under the pillow. She’s like me and hates morning. It takes her at least 15 minutes to wake up. I contemplate just picking her up and putting her in the bathroom to get her going, but decide to let her sleep a little longer since she didn’t go to bed until real late the night before.
7:30am- I head up stairs. Turn on the Keurig so I can grab a cup of coffee. Turn on the lights in my son’s room and tell him to get up. He’s up in less than 30 seconds, wrapped in his blanket, and at the kitchen table. I wish I could wake up that easily.
7:31am- Realize there is no coffee. I drop the first f-bomb of the day. My son tells me that I said a bad word. I tell him when there is no coffee, all the bad words are necessary. He doesn’t agree. There will be a coffee run before school.
7:32am- Make my son his most favorite blueberry waffles from scratch. Ha, no. I put an Eggo in the toaster for him, while he rattles off all the books he wants to buy at the book fair.
7:33am- Curse myself for not loading the dishwasher the night before. Wash a plate for my son’s super healthy totally not organic waffle.
7:34am- Put syrup on both sides of the waffles, because obviously I’m adding to the health factor of the waffle. He won’t eat it any other way. Pour a glass of milk for him, and tell him to eat up. I tell him if he’s still hungry after the waffle, there are bananas on the counter he can have too. None of these items are organic, just so you know.
7:35am- Pull out my son’s lunch kit. When I open the pantry, I realize there is no lunch food. Just apple sauce. Second f-bomb of the day, but this one is quiet so I don’t get a lecture from my almost 7 year old. I tell my son to hurry up and eat because we have to head to the grocery store before school. This also means I have to get dressed. Another f-bomb.
7:36am- Head downstairs and wake my daughter up. This time, I pick her up and put her in the bathroom. I contemplate whether or not to dress her in real clothes. The clothes are ready, but there is a high chance she’ll, in her morning angst, hate everything I picked out. Or want to wear shorts. Or a bathing suit. If I don’t agree with her choices, there will be a rag doll flop and lots of crying. I remember that there has been no coffee this morning. I decide to leave her in her beloved cat pajamas.
7:40am- Stare at the bags under my eyes for at least a minute while deciding if I should wear yoga pants or jeans. I opt for yoga pants because I know I folded some last night, and put them away. This means they are clean, and I don’t have to do the smell test. I’ll get dressed in real people clothes later.
7:45am- Rush upstairs to look for my son’s agenda, and water bottle. I scribble in my initials for the entire week; that’s what you do at the end of the week, right? Did I remember money for the book fair, he asks? I try to convince him to let me go to the Book Fair for him. He doesn’t like this idea at all. He tells me he can just use the debit card. I laugh and tell him we’ll grab him some money on our way to school. Another stop.
7:50am- Tell the kids to get their stuff on. Snowpants? Yes, please. Throw the empty lunch kit in my son’s backpack, and realize I have no idea if my husband took the bank card. He didn’t, thankfully.
7:58am- Out the door, pleased with how little effort it took to get our snow gear on today. Buckle the kids in their carseats, while trying to figure out if I need to scrape the windows off or if the anti-freeze will do the job for me. I decide to scrape the windows hearing my husband’s voice chiding me for using all the anti-freeze last time.
8:00am- On our way to the grocery store. I drive past a Tim Horton’s and I cry a little. Need so much coffee.
8:06am- In the grocery store, I tell the kids we have to be fast, and to please not ask for a million things. We just need lunch items. We grab all the lunch items, and I twitch knowing I’ll have to come back later in the day for the rest of our groceries. We need shampoo too. I may have used my kid’s shampoo when I showered the night before because mine had run out. At least I smell like blueberries?
8:21am- We’re back at the car. In the trunk, I pack my son’s lunch and laugh while wondering if I’m the only parent who has had to do a lunch run first thing in the morning. I’ll be better organized next time, I lie.
8:29am- Arrive at my son’s school, place the money in his agenda for the book fair, and ask him one more time if he’s sure that he doesn’t want me to go for him because he might not be able to go. He says no, and I tell him to politely ask his teacher if he can go during recess. He says he will. I also tell him to remember that his sister would love a book too, and he says that if his Minecraft book isn’t “too much”, he’ll get something for his sister too. He grabs his backpack as he exclaims that all his friends are on the playground.
8:30am- Drive to Tim Horton’s for a coffee. If I had been smart I would have grabbed some coffee at the grocery store earlier. I had tunnel vision, and obviously, thinking ahead is not my thing this morning. Oh well. Please add a shot of espresso. Thank the lady profusely for the coffee, which only makes her look at you funny. She doesn’t get it, obviously. Coffee is everything. Maybe I should have gotten a muffin? Nah, the coffee is good enough.
8:40am- Bring the groceries into the house, put them away and sit down with my precious, glorious coffee. We don’t have school tomorrow, I realize and I bask in the unadulterated awesomeness of knowing that means we can all sleep in. Maybe.
What’s your morning routine look like? Is it as a rushed, and disorganized as mine was this morning? Or are you like the women in the Forbes article?