As I plodded about my morning yesterday, whipping through as many small things on my List as I could, I realised my shoulders where working their way up around my ears, and the pain that accompanies it and works its way up my neck was getting worse.
A quick glance at the clock alerted me to the cause of such a phenomena; it was Time To Get The Big Kids Out Of Bed.
I dread this for a number of reasons;
- I find myself repeating the same thing over and over and over again, to no avail;
- I don’t like being ignored and, also, I want them up so we can go about our day including such things as getting them out of the house and giving me some peace and adequate work time (I love what I do);
- I believe there are so many times you can repeat yourself before you want to jump under a bus;
- I know that when they get up I get to listen to an indeterminate amount of grumbling and whining;
- This is followed by an indeterminate amount of bickering, rivalry and narkiness over such things as who spent .057 seconds longer in the shower, who looked at who first and, loudly, WHO PUT THAT BOWL THERE or who moved somebody’s spoon or some other such highly important, world changing event;
- Not long after, I get some variety, mostly in the shape of repeating myself about other things that they not only do each and every morning and have for eight years or more, but that I also repeat myself over each morning and have done for a minimum of eight years now.
Meanwhile, the littlest one is rolling around the floor, naked but for his dragon tail, not getting dressed and complaining about the yogurt on his cereal; the very yogurt only moments before he had explicitly demanded be on his cereal.
I breathe, force myself to take the steps that need to be taken and brace myself for the inevitable, pour myself a coffee and watch the antics start.
Half an hour later, when all three have been dropped off at school, my finger extends and I reach my arm across to change the radio stations, or press play for the CD; putting it back on the music that calms me, makes me smile and that I enjoy listening to.
Yes, the very same music I had put on when I started the car up in the morning, and was changed whilst I was otherwise occupied, listening to the five-year-old refuse to cooperate when putting his seatbelt on, or trying to work out of someone had something that they needed for school that day or … something.
There’s always something and the kids, generally the Middlest One, but not always, will make the most of this distraction and change the station. If I change it back, they’ll wait till I’m trying to turn a corner safely, or not run over school kids at one of the schools we drive by, and change it back.
I find myself twitching, clenching my jaw and tensing my shoulders, listening to music that not only doesn’t make me happy, but also makes me feel a little stabby.
I have been known to say, when they deliberately change the station to a song I really, really dislike, that if they don’t change it back “I will drive under a bus!”
They think it’s funny, but it’s not.
Thus, my most favourite time of the morning, just a smidge better than farewelling them for the day, is when I change the music to that which I enjoy.
My whole body relaxes and a smile works its way across my face.
What are your least favourite and most favourite morning moments?