Ever since I was little I have hated waking up in the morning. High school made the problem worse, combining my teenage moodiness with 7:30 a.m. classes. I always dreamed that one day I would become an adult and then I could wake up any time I wanted. This dream was realized briefly in college, when I had the freedom to schedule classes in the afternoon and evening. Those were the good old days: waking up at nine or ten, lying in bed while doing my homework, taking a leisurely shower, then sauntering off to school in no particular hurry. I miss those days.
Now my morning life is really bad because I have children. Luckily, they aren't the type of children who wake up at 5:00, but for me, 6:30 is the new 5:00 a.m. Anything before 7:00 is unearthly and simply immoral.
So the first thing to happen at about 6:00 or 6:30 is I hear Ruby cry. This automatically fills me with rage. I usually lie in bed for a while, pretending to be asleep and hoping that Mike (a total morning person) will go get her first. Then as I am lying there, pretending not to hear my baby crying in her crib, I begin to feel resentment over having to make Holden a lunch. Making Holden a lunch consists of about thirty seconds worth of work: spreading some peanut butter on bread, getting a juice box out of the fridge, putting it all in a bag. Zipping up the bag. It's not hard and it isn't complicated. But at 6:30 in the morning, while I am lying in my bed listening to Ruby cry and wondering when Mike is going to go get her, this is an insurmountable task. How can I be expected to do this?
Then there's Hazel, whose morning whims are as unpleasant and dangerous as they are varied. She'll be crying for ice cream, noodles, mac and cheese, jolly ranchers, skittles. Whatever. She'll want cereal with no milk. She'll want a different spoon. She'll want to eat her shredded cheese out of a ziplock bag instead of a bowl. I tell you it's a NIGHTMARE. Furthermore, I can count on at least one dramatic moment involving her choice of clothing, which, these days, usually consists of pajama bottoms and a mismatched or seasonally inappropriate top. I have completely given up on her hair, which hangs in her face in disgusting, food-ridden tangles. The other girls at preschool arrive in perfectly coordinated outfits with their hair in braids and buns and bows. Hazel inevitably has her shoes on the wrong feet, but insists that they are the right feet. I give up.
If I can get Holden out the door and on his way to open the chicken coop and walk to school without snapping at him, then I consider it a successful morning.
Is there any hope for a hideously non-morning person such as myself? I'm willing to try almost anything. So far I have tried: avoidance, diet coke, going back to bed for short intervals between meal prep and diaper changes, and lying on the couch while the chaos increases around me. I can't believe that none of those things work! I need your suggestions, you morning people. But, please, let's be creative here. What I am trying to say is please don't talk to me about getting up earlier than everyone else to exercise.