Mornings at our house are chaotic and loud. The baby wants his milk, the other two are demanding their morning meals. I want cereal. I want a waffle. I want an English muffin. I need milk. You didn't give me juice. He got more than me. And then the baby adds in his two cents' worth by screeching for me at the top of his lungs because I have stepped five feet from him to finish getting food for his siblings.
All through this there is getting Isabella's lunch ready. Do your kids have a packed lunch or do they buy lunch? I like packing her lunch because then I know exactly what she is eating. I could pack it the night before, if the child in question would pick what she wants. But the problem with that is she changes her mind by morning and then it is a major meltdown. So, morning lunch making it is. Do you want turkey? Ham? Peanut butter and jelly? Soup? PICK SOMETHING! And then it is like pulling teeth to get her to choose the little things that go in her lunch. Yogurt, apple sauce, tomatoes, apples, cheese sticks, crackers, chips. Child, you are killing me, smalls!
And we have the background soundtrack of the unhappy 14 month old that is not being held by mommy at the moment. And the three year old that is asking for more food (apparently, an English muffin, yogurt, half a banana, a cereal bar, and a cup of milk is not enough --- and later he will eat half of my eggs).
Getting dressed is another whole ordeal. She has to look beautiful every day. Skirts, dresses, leggings, cute sweatshirt. She is such a girly girl. Her jeans have to have sparkles. Her Punky Brewster outfit of striped tshirt, plaid skirt, teal leggings and purple sweatshirt always cracks me up, though. Her outrageous outfit choices remind me that she is her own person, with her own likes and ideas and taste in fashion.
Thankfully Daddy takes her to school most days. Which leaves me with a pissed off three year old that Daddy wouldn't let him come today (because, gasp!, Daddy has to talk to Sissy's teacher). Cue temper tantrum on the floor while I am trying to get the baby down.
Speaking of said baby. After snuggling and rocking for ten minutes, quiet snores tell me he is asleep. I wait five minutes more and then put him down. I tiptoe out the door, quietly ease the door shut. take one step down the stairs...cue the angry baby screaming. Mommy, you had the audacity to leave me here in my crib, all snuggly warm with my blankey, so you could eat BREAKFAST! There is no breakfast for you!
After finally getting to my breakfast, the three year old eats half of it. God help my grocery bills during the teenage years.
It's not even 10 am and this mommy needs a nap. Except for that pesky laundry, dishes, and homework that needs to be done.
Leave me a comment about your crazy mornings!
