Pear Shaped Mornings

It all started with an apple core.

I guess that’s not entirely true, the tears started with the apple core, but the morning went south long before. You see, I’m a morning person and our days usually start off strong. I help pick out clothes, make beds and scramble eggs, then stand with a mug in my hand, soak it all in and smile. Next, usually I walk into my bedroom, closing the door to dress for the day. If my life were a musical, there would be cheerfully ominous music playing as this happens. This is when it all goes sideways and everyone forgets what they’re supposed to be doing.

When I come out, one is playing and lost his shoes, another is consumed with her latest book, her hair suddenly a mess and the third is just staring off into space with a full plate of his breakfast sitting in front of him. So, what do I do? I yell. Once I start yelling, it all goes pear-shaped and for reasons that escape me now, I continue to do so for the next twenty. Then, we leave and the whole way to school, I teach and I preach and I fuss, give them a hurried kiss and send them on their way.

Most mornings the time immediately following ‘drop off’ is filled with regret, maybe not for what I said, but definitely for how I said it.

Today, I came home, saw a half-eaten apple and I cried. I cried because I wanted today to go differently. I cried because he was just trying to tell me that he wanted to save the rest of his apple for later. But, he didn’t have a chance through all my yelling. So he put it down, in the most literal way possible, brushed his teeth and grabbed his book sack. As I flung his sweatshirt in his direction, he offered an adorable five-year-old apology. But by this time, I was so worked up, I just continued to bark orders. I cried because now he and his brother and his sister are at school at school, and I’m sorry, and I have to wait eight hours to tell them so.

I don’t mean to be overly dramatic here.

I know they know how much I love them. And I know they’ll have a good day, despite my yelling. And I know that when I pick them up this afternoon, it’ll all be water under the bridge. I know it because the same thing was true yesterday, and if something doesn’t change, it’ll be true tomorrow, too.

Part of our very one-sided conversation on the way to school this morning was “don’t slack off when Mom’s not around,” and “take care of your job before you do fun stuff.” Like I said, good lessons, important for them to learn, but I’m certain they didn’t hear it. Would you still be listening after a solid 20 minutes of screaming?

Here’s the kicker, in the clarity of a quiet house I can see that if I altered my morning just a bit, I’d set us all up for success instead of screaming. I can’t get up any earlier, and more coffee isn’t the answer (unfortunately), what I need is an adjustment in our broken routine and it starts with me. There is plenty of time in the mornings, I’ve seen that already, I just need to use it differently. All I want right now is to give them a hug, like my friend Casey, so I wrote a blog post instead. I’m sure I’ll have forgotten most of this by lunchtime and by 3:00, it’ll be barely a memory. But maybe, since I put it on paper, I’ll remember enough to make a change. I can do better. I will do better.

Hopefully, soon, the ‘better’ mornings outweigh the bad ones. I owe it to my kids and all of our tomorrows.