Morning Madness!

By Martha Wegner

"Slow down, you move too fast. You got to make the morning last." ("59th Street Bridge Song", Simon and Garfunkel)

Well, the children are off to school, and I can sit down and finish my cup of coffee, maybe read the paper. But first I need to take a deep breath. I just went through another morning rush with my children, and I need some time to recover.

I thought we were doing fine. Really. The lunches were packed, the teeth were brushed, the homework assembled. But just when things are going smoothly, the gods of disorder need to do their work. It seems every family has to have a little sand to throw into the gears of their morning routine -- something to get the mother yelling and the adrenaline flowing. My friend Cindy tells me that things at her house will be going along just fine, and then she'll look over and see her daughters playing the piano, petting the dog, or just generally laying on the floor-- anything to keep from doing those mundane tasks like getting dressed and brushing teeth. The more she yells, the more slowly they move. My co-worker, Lynne, has the daunting chore of getting a teenage boy out the door. After shaking him out of his slumber 3 separate times, during which she swears he has responded in a clear and audible tone, he'll eventually stumble bleary-eyed into the kitchen asking, "Why didn't you wake me up?"

The little bug in our mix today was my daughter's hair. We were doing fine, until she looked into the mirror. A tiny little errant wave had popped up on her head. She immediately begged for help. I yanked out the curling iron and proceeded to pull and cook her hair, all the while muttering, "I don't know why I do this, I don't know why I do this, we're going to be late again." Her brother knew to take his place on the couch until the smoke cleared. Turns out my amateur styling only made it worse, as a corkscrew cascaded down the top of her hair. And this is when our defining morning moment occurred. Realizing that I had the wrong tool for the job, I did a sprint for the upstairs bathroom to retrieve the proper iron. The only problem was the open cupboard door that I needed to get past. This was at knee level, and darned if I didn't try to run past it instead of closing it. In my rush and extreme agitation, I tried sidestepping the door, but instead I ran right into it. In what appeared to be a slow motion video of destruction, the cupboard door split right in 2 and clattered to the floor.It was like someone had taken a clean karate kick to a piece of wood. My son got off his perch long enough to see what the crash was. My daughter retreated into the bathroom. The dog came around to sniff. The silence was broken only by my son asking, "Are you all right?" And then the carpool pulled up into the driveway.

Today my daughter entered the carpool with tears about to spill over (and a curl down the back of her head), my son is keeping out of mom's way, and even the dog has retreated. I'm drinking my coffee, and wondering if it is a little too early in the morning for a little glass of wine.

I don't know how this happens. But happen it does and happen it will. If not tomorrow, then perhaps the next day. The only thing I can do is expect it. And maybe make sure the kitchen cupboards are closed before I start running.

Martha Wegner is a wife, parent, teacher, writer, speaker, bookshop employee, sometime nursemaid, errand runner, church volunteer, school mom, choir member, and occasional maid. She lives in St. Paul, Minnesota

This article appeared in the August/September 2005 issue of Parents' Source

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