5:30 AM
Rise and shine! I wake up early to ensure I have PLENTY OF TIME to tackle the day ahead.
5:31 AM
I daydream about brewing a hot beverage to savor during my much-needed 15 minutes of solitude. Quietly, I attempt to sneak downstairs.
5:31 AM
But my toddler, who possesses the super-senses of a hawk, detects my movements. It’s like I’m tiptoeing around with a flashlight in the dark, and she knows it.
5:32 AM
I freeze, hoping she might drift back to sleep.
5:33 AM
No luck. “Mama! Wake!” she chirps, far too cheerful for someone who was up all night searching for her beloved binky. I worry her sunny disposition might be short-lived if I indulge it.
5:33 AM
I spend the next few minutes assisting my toddler on and off the potty, feeling just a tinge guilty for the icy toilet seat that my husband insists on keeping for nighttime.
5:34 AM
That guilt quickly fades as her cheerful mood starts to dwindle, thwarted in her mission to wash her hands repeatedly.
6:15 AM
Time to wake my older child. I silently thank the universe for blessing me with one kid who rises with a smile. I remind myself to be kind so that karma keeps him this way through his teenage years.
7:00 AM
I race around, ensuring everyone is fed, hydrated, packed for the day—everyone except me, of course. I do manage to whip up my hot drink… because, well, life.
7:30 AM
Reality hits: I forgot to schedule time for the Pull-Up-Character-Negotiations.
7:35 AM
Just five minutes before the bus arrives, my oldest suddenly remembers a list of urgent tasks: a form that needs signing, locating his library book, and oh—he needs to bring a helmet for rollerblading day. Plus, it’s his teacher’s birthday, and he wonders if he could take cookies.
7:40 AM
Channeling my inner supermom, I track down everything, sign all the papers, because I really don’t want to make an extra trip to school when the bus is right there. With a little help from his dad, who just rolled out of bed, he makes it.
7:45 AM
I try to explain to the toddler that her dad will take her to her babysitter today. She responds with a cheerful “Okay!” which indicates she doesn’t fully grasp what’s happening. I dread the moment she realizes the truth.
7:50 AM
I head outside to warm up the car, but in her frantic need for closeness, my toddler locks me out of the house. Seriously.
7:51 AM
I attempt to communicate the door’s mechanics through the closed door for a brief moment, but then I remember she didn’t even comprehend my earlier statement about her dad. I panic until I recall that I let the dog out earlier! Fingers crossed.
7:52 AM
Miraculously, I get back inside. Thank goodness! That would’ve been an awkward conversation with any professionals nearby.
7:55 AM
I say goodbye to my toddler, who has somehow managed to put on her coat and backpack—further evidence that she doesn’t quite get that Dad is taking her away today. She hugs me and says, “Bye, Mommy!” Just as I open the door to leave, the reality hits her.
7:57 AM
The dramatic realization unfolds, but I make my escape.
8:00 AM
I pull out of the driveway. My hot beverage has cooled down, but it’s still in my hand, so I consider this morning a resounding success.
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In summary, mornings as a working mom are a whirlwind of chaos, laughter, and a touch of panic. But with a little planning—and a lot of heart—successful days are possible.
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