This morning, I witnessed a first grader having a meltdown as she knocked over a row of bicycles. Late for school, she hurriedly walked her bike towards the principal’s office. “Come ON!” her mom pleaded. “The bell just rang!” Their footsteps echoed along the sidewalk, a familiar tune of urgency. I was in my own chaotic morning routine, having just nudged my five-year-old, Liam, into his kindergarten class just moments before.
I had just passed the little girl when I heard the loud crash. In her haste, she had flung her bike into a neat line of colorful handlebars and well-placed helmets. They toppled like dominos; when the last bike fell at the feet of a surprised dad, I couldn’t help but laugh.
Not to humiliate her—though I might have annoyed her mom—but because mornings are tough. I totally get it, little ponytailed friend. If I had a bike and an Elsa helmet, you can bet I’d toss them into the bike rack too, as a playful rebellion against a world that spins too fast and expects too much. It’s a daily challenge managing the whims of a five-year-old who insists, “I just need to stretch a little more… oh wait, look at this Lego ship!” every single morning. Yep, that’s my life.
My husband and I engage in a daily battle over our utterly ineffective morning routine. “We HAVE to figure this out,” I hiss, tugging Liam’s shirt over his head and guiding him towards the bathroom for a teeth-brushing session. We even consulted a parenting coach. “Find what motivates him,” she advised in that overly simplistic tone that experts often seem to adopt. We tried. But let me just say, there should be a law against sticker charts in the morning. Five-year-olds couldn’t care less about stickers when they’re hell-bent on squeezing every last drop of toothpaste onto their brush.
And let’s talk about the clock. The pressure of being somewhere on time while managing small humans is a whole different level of chaos. Between potty breaks, clothes that seem to disappear, and the endless search for shoes, there’s never enough time. Liam’s teeth brushing is a toothpaste war zone, and hair combing is an all-out battle. “No, I like it this way!” he shouts, squirming as I try to tame his bedhead. And let’s not even mention breakfast. Make it, argue about it, spill it, and then make another one. Clean faces? Not a chance.
Every morning feels like an uphill struggle. The kids move at a snail’s pace, while I’m left yelling like a frantic mom at the park, convinced my kid is about to fall off the jungle gym. And that’s on days when I don’t even shower or make myself presentable. Each morning, we run out of time, patience, and any semblance of motivational strategies that would make glossy parenting magazines proud. I don’t own a bike to hurl, but if I could, I’d toss my coffee cup at something—if I didn’t need it so much.
I understand that we’re raising our kids to be responsible, accountable, and aware of their impact on the world around them. Numerous articles discuss how to achieve this, but this isn’t one of them. Instead, consider this an invitation to the “Glad You Made It” club.
Mornings are tough. They’re difficult for us and for you. So, to the parking lot attendant who clucks her tongue at us for being late, how about this: Instead of rushing us with “The BELL just rang! Hurry! Hurry!”, how about a simple “Good morning! I’m glad you made it!”
Picture it: “I’m glad you made it,” when you see the mom with the wet ponytail, juggling her baby while trying to hold her kindergartner’s hand. “I’m glad you made it,” when the first grader tosses her bike into the rack in frustration. “I’m glad you made it,” when a five-year-old with wild hair slides into class at 8:34 am.
We see you trying hard. We know you’re learning how to navigate this world, even if it takes longer than expected. We’ll figure it out together.
We have plenty of time to regret how fast the minutes fly by. At night, when we tuck our children in and they finally settle down, we count the seconds between their breaths, the stories before their eyes close, and the precious moments we wish could last forever. We don’t need to rush during the mornings; our kids will face enough pressure to grow up fast.
If I could indulge in Legos on the way to the bathroom or throw my bike into the school rack, I certainly would. Sometimes, just showing up is worth celebrating. So tomorrow, when your daughter drops her backpack in a puddle and my son stops to pick up every stick on the playground, I’ll catch your eye and share a laugh with you. We can hurry later. For now, I’m just glad you made it.
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Summary:
Mornings can be chaotic and overwhelming for parents and children alike. This article highlights the struggles many families face during their morning routines and encourages a more compassionate approach to our shared experiences. Instead of rushing, let’s acknowledge the effort it takes just to make it through the morning.
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