Morning Sickness: The Chaotic Rush of Getting 3 Little Girls to Preschool on Time

I am not a morning person. At all. But, to be clear, I'm not really a night person, either. I'm more of what you would call a sleep person. I mean... there's a small window of time immediately following my afternoon Starbucks fix from 3 – 3:30 p.m. where I understand exactly what it is Lady Gaga is singing about as I drive a little faster than usual, but for the most part whatever the time of day, whatever it is I'm doing, I would rather be catching some shut eye.

Before kids I would sleep until the last possible moment, hop out of bed just before I had to be at work, dash into a phone booth, strap on my jet pack and rocket out the door. I had my morning routine timed out to the nano-second to allow myself the most sleep possible.

I never understood why some of my friends would get up early to leisurely drink their coffee, watch the news and pee on the toilet instead of in the shower. There are shortcuts everywhere, people. No dilly dally for me. Up, on, out the door.

But now that I have three little girls, morning life is oh so different. My kids have absolutely zero appreciation for the fact that pre-school starts at a certain hour, and that every minute after said certain hour is cutting into my glorious alone time to catch up on my stories. To them, the word 'hurry' has the same meaning as 'other people'. Non-existent.

For the past four years I thought all three of my kids were deaf. Asking them to do something in the morning was as effective as asking the curtains to give me a neck rub. I would scream “put on your shoes” until I was blue in the face and they wouldn't even so much as glance in my direction.

In theory, the morning routine seems so simple. There are five things. Make beds. Do hair. Brush teeth. Get dressed. Eat breakfast.

FIVE things, each of which would take a normal person about 5-10 minutes each. Yet, in order to do each of these things and be out the door by 8 a.m. I need to begin at 11 p.m. And not only does it take a day and a half, but it usually ends in a blaze of glory reminiscent of the final scene in The Blair Witch Project.

One girl is hysterically screaming nonsensical gibberish while she wanders aimlessly around the house. One girl is standing catatonic in the corner, suffering from some sort of post traumatic stress. And one girl has just vanished into thin air, likely never to be found again.

And even if you haven't seen the movie you can guess by process of elimination what role I play in this cinematic scenario.

I've tried positive reinforcement – hiding a pop tart in the van and the first and only person who gets themselves ready and into their car seat gets to eat breakfast. I've tried punishment – threatening to sell them to gypsies if they don't hurry up. But no matter what I try, no sooner do I finally pin someone to the ground into a Full Nelson to force on a pair of socks when someone else has decided to strip back down to their birthday suit and run crying through the kitchen because their pants gave them a wedgie.

Also, all three girls are at the age of almost being able to do everything themselves but not quite. So our morning is a constant back and forth:

"NOOOOOO! I WILL DO IT MYSELF!"

*throws self on the ground when blanket is not perfectly straight on the bed *

"MOM HELP ME!!! MOOOOOOM! HELP MEEEE!"

*throws self on ground when I barely touch blanket *

"NOOO! STOP IT! I CAN DO IT ALL. BY. MYSELF!"
*throws self on ground because they are completely insane *

"MOOOOOM! IT'S NOT RIGHT! IT'S NOT RIGHT!!!!"

After about ten minutes of this the gypsy option starts to look pretty appealing.

When 8 a.m. hits, we stop wherever we are in the routine and I drag them, usually kicking and screaming, out of the house and into the car. Sometimes they have brushed their teeth and sometimes they haven't. Sometimes they are wearing pants and sometimes they aren't. Usually every time we are all coated in a sticky substance that has yet to be identified but magically works its way onto all of us.

Pulling up to the pre-school I barely slow down the van before pushing them out.

“Why are your kids barefoot?” I hear their teachers yell down the sidewalk as I speed away back home.
 
And somewhere in the distance as I drive, I hear the gods of the teenage years laughing at me for what's to come.