The Morning Thing

Let me tell you about Wednesday morning.

But first let me preface this whole post by saying that Monday and Wednesday mornings suck, and through dealing with them, I have come to totally appreciate the fact that Mom and Dad didn't lock me in a closet and leave me there. Or lock themselves in a closet...

I've never really been fond of mornings where you have to be at certain places by a certain time (which is about 95% of the mornings of my life). I call myself a morning person because I wake up and fuction in the mornings. But let me tell you, I have a very loose definition of the word "function." We get ourselve together and get out the door, but there's not a whole lot of organization to the whole routine. Because, I've discovered, my two preschoolers also have a very loose definition of the word "routine."

In high school, we had 6 women in our house--okay, one woman and five girls, and the youngest was not even in school yet, so does she really count? I think so. We all had to be at the same school at the same time--8:15 a.m. Our house was chaotic to say the least, with us either fighting over clothes, fighting over the last of the milk, fighting over toothpaste, fighting over the curling iron, or fighting just because we were grouchy. My favorite morning was the tantrum I threw because I couldn't find a clean sports bra in the dryer. For 20 minutes I ranted and raved over who stole my clean sports bra. Then I looked in my dresser. And found one.

Dad had to be at work at 7 a.m. He left the house at 6 a.m. for his 10 minute commute to work. Let me remind you that we lived in rural southeast Nebraska, and traffic helicopters never graced our airways. He was just a smart man to get the heck out of Dodge before the stampede came through town.

Mondays and Wednesdays now mean Pat has left the house before 6 a.m. to go to morning wrestling practice, and I'm left to get the kids together and out the door all by my lonesome. We'd been doing a decent job of it until this past Wednesday. Try to follow along as I tell you about the chaos that transpired...

I get Parker out of bed and on the couch so he can watch cartoons while I get breakfast for them. After many "I don't knows..." he says he wants dry cheerios. I get a bowl of cheerios and set them on the coffee table. They don't move. I get Peyton out of bed and her clothes on while she shoots down my every suggestion for breakfast (which is not uncommon now-a-days--rarely does she eat breakfast like a champion). I tell Parker to get busy with his breakfast, and he declared that he wanted PANCAKES! NOT CEREAL! for breakfast. Not a big deal--see how I'm taking all of this in stride?--I can grab a couple of pancakes from the freezer and get them ready in 5 minutes or less. Peyton sees me pull the two pancakes out of the microwave and says WHY ARE THERE TWO PANCAKES?!? PARKER CAN'T HAVE TWO PANCAKES!

Do you wnat one? I ask.

Yes, she replies.

Deal!! I say.

I'm feeling pretty good about myself, because it's not even 6:50 and I've got two kids who are dressed and happy about their breakfast. Obviously they aren't going to finish their pancakes by 7, so I figure we'll just eat breakfast in the car (again). So I get their shoes together, and just as I am finishing tying Parker's shoes, all heck breaks loose.

Parker: I DON'T WANT MY SHOES ON I DIDN'T GET TO EAT MY BREAKFAST WHILE I WATCHED CARTOONS I DON'T WANT TO GO YET I WANT TO FINISH WATCHING CARTOONS WHILE I EAT MY BREAKFAST! I DON'T WANT TO WEAR A JACKET TODAY MY LIFE REALLY REALLY SUCKS! (not that last part, but the rest is quite accurate)

Petyon: I DON'T WANT PANCAKE I DON'T WANT TO EAT BREAKFAST I DON'T BLAH BLAH BLAH WHINE WHINE WHINE.

So we're walking out the door, two out of three of us screaming, and I'm trying to juggle two plates of pancakes because by golly they're going to eat what I fixed for them and I am thinking to myself this is not a good way to start our morning.

As I'm shuffling our things and the kids into the car, I remind Parker that he's the one that changed his mind, and if he wants to eat breakfast while he watches TV then he needs to decide earlier what he wants to eat. And not change his mind. Because it's not my fault that he didn't eat when I told him to.

And I tell Peyton that she's the one that said that she wanted pancakes and if she doesn't eat her breakfast it's a long time until lunch and she's going to be pretty darn hungry.

Basically, I tell them to take responsibility for their own decisions and their unhappiness is their own darn fault, and there's not a thing I can do about it.

I'm sure you can imagine how well that went over. Yeah, the screaming only increased in volume and frequency.

So we're about a half a mile from home and at least we're on the road and they're in the back and I'm in the front and I'd turn on the radio but it would only add to the chaos. But, let's face it, we were all miserable.

I say, Parker, I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood you. I thought that you said "cheerios" when in fact you meant "pancakes." I'm sorry I made a mistake and you didn't get to eat your breakfast while you watched cartoons. But let's not let it ruin our day, okay?

He says, Sniff, sniff. Okay.

Then I say, Peyton, I have an apple in my bag that I was going to eat with my lunch. Would you rather have my apple?

Did you wash it? she asks.

Yes, I say.

Will you take off the stem? she asks.

Here, I say, and hand back an apple.

So Parker picks up his plate of pancakes and Peyton picks up her plate of pancakes and breakfast is finished by the time we pull into Brennans. Peyton doesn't even eat her apple because she decides she wants to save it for after school.

All because I took responsibility for their problems? And I've been thinking, am I doing them a huge disservice by fixing all of their problems? Am I raising a couple of kids who are egocentric and think that life doesn't serve real consequences?