I'm a Sweet Mommy so I never turn the bedroom lights on and yell at them to get up. I turn on the hall light instead and talk sweetly to them to coax them from their little cozy beds. I believe WE the parents set the tone for our kids day depending on how we prepare them in the morning.
The five year-old is pretty good. She's the first one up. She gets up, grabs her clothes and goes straight to the bathroom. She gets dressed and then lets me do her hair and then brushes her teeth. Meanwhile Zombie Kids 1 and 2 (the eight and ten year-old) are stumbling around in their rooms and yelling at each other to "move" or "shut up". This is some BULL.
I usually finish with the little one and then make my way to the back of the house where the other two girls are. They're still stumbling, still bitching and apparently have the worst short-term memory because they don't know where their clothes are. For the record, they're in the same damn drawers they've been in for years.
By this time, Sweet Mommy is annoyed and as I wrangle the two older girls into the bathroom they're glaring at each other. I still don't understand sibling hostility all that much since I was raised as a single child but it seems to me that they have some kind of "rivalry" going. Is that a thing? Anyway, I stand there and give them instructions (while they're still in PJ's), make them repeat back to me what I need them to do, then I walk away so I can prepare lunches (which the five year-old helps me do).
I'm making lunches while listening to the Pretenders "Brass In Pocket" and feeling like today might be the day they get it done in a reasonable amount of time. Can anyone guess what happens next? That's right. I'm in mid-stroke of the peanut butter and I hear, "OMG I was using that!!" followed by, "OMG you're taking too long (really?)!!" It's an all-out war in the loo. That's it. I've had it. I instruct the youngest to continue with the lunches and I dash back to the bathroom.
Angry Mommy is now in control. This is a public blog so I clean up what is actually being said at this point.
"What the hell is wrong with you two?! Are you frigging crazy?! I asked you to get dressed, brush your teeth and hair and get the hell out of the bathroom!! I can do all of those things in under ten minutes and you've been in here for twenty!! You're sisters and supposed to love each other or whatever!! When me and daddy DIE you're only going to have each other to lean on you little buttheads!! GET YOUR CLOTHES ON AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND HAIR OR I SWEAR I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR FACES!!
Or something like that.
Now...FML...they're crying. The beast in me is still present so their tears don't phase me. Instead I move in close to their faces and whisper, "If you don't start moving I can't guarantee that I won't put your Monster High dolls and Wii in the fireplace while you're at school." The tears then defy gravity and move upwards back into their little tear ducts and they begin to hustle.
This is NOT the end folks. It gets worse. They manage to finish getting ready but are now on the hunt for shoes, jackets, backpacks, brains, etc. Let me just say this to any of you moms who even THINK about critiquing my methods, shut the front door. I'll punch you in the face.
No, I'm not going to lay my kids stuff out at night. No, I'm not going to run around and keep their things organized. THEY are more than physically capable of keeping their things together. If they'd come in from school and hang their jackets, take off their shoes in a place they can find them (not my living room or hallway), and put their stuff back in their backpacks when they finish their work, then they wouldn't have to run around like the Keystone Cops at 7 AM!
Eventually, everything is found, put on, put in, shut up, shut down, laced, tied, buttoned, and packed. I'm still in full-blown crazy mode so when they come up to hug me as the bus approaches, I don't even know what's going on. The Mechanical Mommy then comes out, hugs and kisses, and walks back in the house. I stand there. I look around. The house is a disaster. Every light is on and my blood pressure is boiling. I collapse on the sofa.
Then something wonderful happens. My dog, Smalls, walks up and licks my hand and sits in front of me, waiting for the Mechanical Mommy to disappear. I smile, pat him on the head and I'm back.
Point of the story is, your kids may love you unconditionally and drive you crazy, but an animal can heal your heart. Til the next time the little jerk gets into the trash overnight while you're sleeping and you wake up and step in jelly.
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