Morning Madness

Mornings are not my *thing*. Or my family's *thing*. Each morning I wake to the thunk and clunk as the toys, books and a kid (namely Banshee - she's the early riser in our household) fall from the bed (mostly her own, but sometimes ours), followed up by the pitter patter of little feet as she bolts to the bathroom. I usually roll over and pull the duvet up over my head because hell is about to break loose. Once the ceremonial flush and handwashing is done, she pitter patters into our room and 'whispers' (anyone knowing Banshee well knows that 'whisper' is not even part of her vocabulary) "CAN I GET UP NOW?". We reply with a tired and groggy "yes" and she runs off, only instead of minding her own business and keeping to herself, she usually feels the need to wake the entire househould, starting off by calling out into her brothers room to "see" if he is awake. Before she's even down the stairs, I hear HIS feet hit the floor; running. ALWAYS running. That kid is like the energizer bunny. He BOUNDS into the bathroom; BOUNDS down the stairs and cheerfully comes into the kitchen ready for breakfast. Me? I just want to throw up. THAT much sunshine and rainbow first thing in the morning does NOT make me happy. In fact it irritates me. Remember . . . I'm usually coming off a night full of other peoples bodily functions, waking kids, gallbladder issues, bladder issues and various other sleep depriving things. However, I DO need to point out that Imp usually is able to clear that big old black cloud from over my head pretty quick - he humours me a great deal. And that's a GOOD thing . . . because his sisters, Banshee and Teen?! They are NOT full of sunshine and rainbows first thing in the morning. NOT. AT. ALL. I suspect that God gave me Imp to offset the girls . . . because WOW, did I mention that they are NOT morning folk?! 'Cuz they're not. And like me, I think Imp's sunshine and rainbows is enough to make them snap . . . it really can be irritating at times.

A typical morning usually entails Banshee hauling butt to the basement to turn on the TV. On a weekend day - FANTASTIC - I welcome the TV babysitter (although it's short lived because her and Imp fight; like cats and dogs; ALL. THE. TIME. And someone (namely me) has to get up and break it up). Oddly enough, on a weekend day, they don't always want to watch TV; instead they want US to entertain them - by playing games or reading with them (we don't doing that stuff with them, but on a Saturday or Sunday morning, I'd rather it not be before 8:00am. That isn't asking so much, is it?! Yeah, apparently it is). On a school day, I need to chase her to get all her 'tasks' done. I ship her up to get some breakfast, but at this point she's mad that I've MADE her 'miss' her favourite show (I won't allow the TV to be on while they get ready (too much distraction for them), but I use it as a 'reward' for when they DO get their tasks done in a timely fashion). And I'm already just irritated by default (because it's morning). For whatever reason, she can't do anything on her own, so either my other half or I get her breakfast put together (one might argue that we NEED to 'force' her to do things on her own, and you're likely right, but when you've got a group of grumbly people, an entire box of froot loops or frosted flakes or even worse, an entire bag of milk, on the floor is NOT a welcome distraction. In fact it would likely cause World War 4579837598273589274582745). She ALWAYS tries to sneak a fast one on us by quietly walking into the living room and sitting on the couch or at the coffee table to eat (when she knows darn well that we eat ALL of our meals at the dining room table). Oddly enough, it's the 'quietness' that tips us off at what she's up to . . . because, well, she's NEVER quiet, and quiet always means trouble. Or sleep . . . but she's just got up after a nights sleep so that isn't going to be the case. She storms to the table, often slopping cereal and milk to the floor, ranting and raving the entire time. Almost similtaneously, my other half is preparing Imp's morning smoothie. He uses a fancy hand-held blender (a Christmas gift compliments of his WONDERFUL wife) that is kinda loud. Actually, it almost breaks the sound barrier, and I admit, it hurts my ears to be in the same room (but this is coming from someone who can almost be brought to my knees by the 'sound' that comes from a plug in mouse deterrent - so my sound sensitivity is a little more delicate than the average person). Anyway, the second the blender starts, the wail of the Banshee starts. She hoots and hollers; bellyaches and yells because it 'bothers' her. Imp stands between her and the smoothie making operation and yells back at her. Every so often, if we're graced with her presence that 'early' in the morning, Teen will shout down her 2 cents . . . oh yes, breakfast is a SPLENDID time. Imp will park himself at the table with Banshee; and the fighting/arguing commences. As we pull together lunches for them; empty the dishwasher; wipe the counter and clean the dishes that someone else said they'd do by hand the night before - but didn't because they were too busy playing video games (not mentioning any names *cough* my other half *cough*), we're playing referee. Eventually (actually, it's quite quickly) one of them gets pissed enough that they storm up the stairs to continue getting ready; except now, everyone is in a mood. This is where our mornings seem to unravel. . . we're chasing Imp to actually get his clothes ON (he's often happily prancing around his room in nothing more than a pair of socks or undies playing with toys or reading a book); we're hounding Banshee to get INTO her room to get dressed; and when she does, she needs a light on, and that of course sets Teen off into a fury of protests (even though we've been calling her to get up for the past 15mins). Typically Banshee emerges from her room wearing an outfit that would put the 80's neon stage to shame, but long ago I chose not to pick THAT battle; but admittedly, there are some days where it does shock me (and it's those days I make a mental note to myself to only buy pants that are neutral and will match everything). I scurry about making the bed in my room, finishing up the lunches and tidying the kitchen from breakfast, and am constantly nagging at everyone to "HURRY UP" or to "FOCUS" or to "RELAX" or to "IGNORE" each other. Sometimes, to add to the 'fun' of the morning, I have daycare kids arrive early. This provides even more distraction. If I allow these kids to have the TV on, then it REALLY distracts my own kids in their tasks, but if I don't turn the TV on for the daycare kids, then they go out of their way to distract mine by calling for them. It's a lose-lose situation. By this point, Teen has dragged herself out of bed; and 99% of the time, she's FOUL. She grumbles at EVERYTHING in her path. This adds even more grumble to the grumblies that my other half and I already have. The little ones wind up in the bathroom brushing their teeth, hair and washing up at the same time. No matter how hard I try to 'stagger' this part of the morning, it doesn't work. The bathroom portion of the morning is high stress for us. And someone ALWAYS ends up crying (Banshee) or having a tantrum (Teen), and Imp ALWAYS pokes fun at the cryer or tantrumer (which you can well imagine makes an already bad situation even worse). There are often 4 people in that bathroom vying for counter space, the sink, etc. They fight over who gets to use the toothpaste first; who gets to use the hair detangler; that so and so used their brush; that so and so spit on their toothbrush; that the water running for teethbrushing is too cold (or warm). Someone ALWAYS goes "number 2" and of course the odour from that is still lingering in the air, and my sensitive gag reflexed little girl gags and retches the entire time, and between gags and retches is giving hell to whomever the offending pooper is; and the guilty party gets all defensive. Sometimes Banshee will come and nag at me (usually when I'm in the middle of something - like garbage day preparation) and beg and plead that I do her hair a specific way (which I usually screw up 2 or 3 times before she just conceeds and accepts what I've done - or better yet, she just sighs and without actually saying the words, implies that I'm a loser. But that's OK - I have a teenager in the house; I'm used to being pretty stupid). I often also have to deal with Imp's "Poindexter" look (picture this: A cute little ginger-haired boy with a part right down the middle, and everything slicked back), a look created by his FATHER of all people (thank the lord he is folically challenged - or else lord knows what middle age would bring in terms of hairstyle for him). At this point, we are running short on time, and emotions are running HIGH. Although the tasks are almost done, we are still facing getting their winter gear on and getting them out the door. It's at about this time that Teen is suddenly in the middle of everything. This is the time of day that she reminds me of things that she needs to do or things that need to be signed or is questioning where certain jeans or shirts are - you know, stuff that could have been done the night before. Her attitude is in FINE form first thing in the morning, and that, coupled with the high stress levels from my other half and I makes for some REALLY tense moments. I probably get upset over 'small' things, but dognabit, there are SO many 'little' things. On the other hand, she flips out over the most ridiculous things (like me calling her on the fact that she didn't sweep the floor or put her laundry in the basket before I washed it all, or the fact that she left her glass from the night before on the floor in the living room and one of the little daycare kids has found it and dumped it. I call her on ANY of that, and suddenly *I* am the enemy and *SHE* is the victim). Finally the time arrives for the younger kids to get their snow gear on and to head to the bus. THIS is like pulling teeth. We're usually negotiating with at least one about how they can't bring toys to school, or that we need to unload the 20lbs of ROCKS (yes for real - ROCKS. I don't know where they find them, but both my little ones come home all year long with rocks) that they collected in their bags. I'm hounding them to get their lunches IN their bags and to get their snowpants on. I painfully listen to Banshee tell me (for the bazillionth time) about how much she hates her snowpants; and then I listen to Imp inject himself into the conversation (which pisses Banshee off more than she already was). I've got daycare kids needing to get ready as well, so at times (like this morning), I've got 4 kids racing to get ready in my little entry way. While EVERYONE dances well, they aren't exactly being productive in getting their stuff on. Every single morning, at least one of them puts their mittens on first - because you know, it's ALWAYS easy to do everything else with their mitts on - it doesn't hinder doing up zippers AT ALL. No siree . . . it's all common sense around here. At some point, we realize that we need to medicate Banshee (puffs and stuff), so we pull her into the kitchen to do that. This process, for whatever reason, causes EVERYONE to stop what they're doing to watch. Sometimes we remember that they have skiing or skating, so that means we're hauling ass to the storage room to gather up skates and helmets or skis. Or we're told that they HAVE to bring money in for this, or a food for a food drive . . . the list of 'things' goes on and on. My other half and I are at the end of our tether at this point. The clock is ticking away and we still have to get to the end of the street for the bus. I DO NOT have the ability to drive the kids anymore (I've long since removed the 'extra' seating and simply can't accomodate them), so they NEED to take the bus (or else I'd have to call parents to come and deliver their kids, and I don't want to have to do that. I could walk, but honestly, that would kill me. These kids are NOT quick. It would take me all day to get them there). After many 'raised voices' and heated discusssions, they FINALLY get themselves ready and head out the door - although I have to remind them to zip up their coats (seriously . . . when it's -25C, they still bolt out the door with their coats WIDE open). I'm often hollering out to one or 4 of them to come back and get their bags. And finally?!

Sweet blissful silence. Well, sort of. Teen is still floating around getting ready, and that doesn't always go without incident - but that's just 'typical' teen girl vs Mom stuff. At least 2 times a week, Teen asks me to drive her to school - because you know it's easier for me to defrost and heat up the van to drive her there than it is for her to walk the 3 blocks to get there. Seriously . . . it takes me probably 4x as long to get the windows cleared than it does for her to walk. Provided I don't have any little kids there yet (daycare - although sometimes I DO have little people arrive early, unannounced, and that definitely throws off my daily routine), I hop into the shower to regather my bearings for the day; so I can prepare for the end of the day madness . . .

Which is almost the same as the morning, only different.