If only it were that easy. My mornings begin with a prayer of gratitude for my good health and precious family and the plea for strength and patience to last throughout the day. I do not have a high stress job but it is one of great responsibility. It is my job to take care of three young boys. I adore them but they can be challenging.
Our mornings begin around 5:00 when my husband gets up first. Soon after, I slowly pull myself from the warm cotton sheets before the sound of the shower lulls me back to sleep. If I am lucky, I will have almost an hour to pack lunches and start breakfast and coffee before any of the kids wake up. However, today our two-year-old is up by 5:30. I start moving a little faster and thinking a little quicker about what my boys will need this morning.
Our five-year-old stumbles out of his room next with his hair sticking out in all directions as a result of going to bed too soon after his bath. His eyes are barely open and he is rubbing them with tight fists. My husband tries to help by getting a glass of juice ready and bringing it to our sleepyhead. I am in the kitchen when I hear the crying. I rush to the living room and see my husband, still holding the glass of juice looking dumbfounded. I look at our son that is not quite awake but he is annoyed, upset and crying. My husband looks at me with innocent wide eyes and shrugs his shoulders. “I tried to give him this juice and he just started to cry.” My eyes go to the cup of juice and I immediately know what the problem is. “Oh, he likes the blue cup with the superheroes in the morning. “ My husband looks at me like this is the craziest thing he has ever heard. “It’s like how I have my favorite coffee cup. He likes the blue cup. It’s his thing.”
Patience. We need it from the very beginning of the day.
Our third son wakes up and I am working in record speed to get things ready for school. I have three separate breakfast requests and no one is willing to compromise so instead of a warm meal, I give them cereal. Now I have three kids complaining and we have only a half an hour to get in the car. The older two boys get themselves dressed and the five year old emerges wearing a gray shirt, tan shorts and brown socks. I start to protest but stop myself and instead praise him for getting dressed without help. I ask our seven-year-old, “where is the library book that you are supposed to return today?” He looks at me like he can see right through me. “I have no idea,” he replies with a shrug. We sift through the pile of papers on the table as I refrain from growling like Marge Simpson.
Brushing everyone’s teeth takes at least 15 minutes as I call them each to the bathroom numerous times before they actually come. This chore I help them with to ensure that their teeth are truly getting clean. Our middle son stands at the sink and swallows about 10 times with his pointer finger held up in the air to alert me that he is not ready but getting there. I glance at my face in the mirror and try to turn the snarl into a smile instead. I take deep breaths through my nose until his finger goes down and mouth widens for the toothbrush. Finally.
Everyone gets their socks and shoes on and we pile into the car with our backpacks and bags. I scoop up the baby to strap him into his car seat and he starts bucking his head back and screaming. “What, what?” I try to ask as calmly as possible. Through his cries I manage to hear “By myself!” I take another deep breath and set him down. I try not to tap my foot as he takes the next 10 minutes to climb into the car. Once everyone is strapped in, we start to back out of the driveway. I begin to relax my neck muscles as we drive down the street. We are not even past the neighbor’s house when the baby starts requesting, “something to drink, please.”
I look out the window towards the clear blue sky and then at the clock on the dashboard. It reads 7:35am. Please grant me patience for the next 13 hours.