It’s said that the sun will always come out tomorrow unless you live at our house. Then every morning is greeted in practically the same way: with teenage venom.
Even if I hired a harpist to play golden sunshiny music to lull them awake; a butler to deliver beautiful sunflowers, freshly squeezed orange juice, two perfectly poached eggs and lightly toasted English muffins; a celebrity stylist to do their hair, make up and outfit selection; and a chauffeur to whisk my teenage daughters off to school each day, I believe I’d get the same types of responses that I recorded for five days in a row last week:
Monday: “Get out!”
Tuesday: “All my clothes are in the washing machine.”
Wednesday: “You need to make cupcakes for a school party by 11:00 today.”
Thursday: “Why are you so annoying?”
Friday: “Why do you have to come into my room to wake me up? Can’t you just stand at the door?”
What’s more, every morning sounded the fire drill to get ready on time, leaving me yelling, “Hurry up! You’ll be late to school” at least five times each morning. In the beginning, I tried everything I could think of to lessen the stress. If one was later than the other, I’d drive the early one to school and come back to get the other when she finished.
I’d set up the breakfast table the night before, sometimes even with cereal in the bowls and juice glasses out.
We tried laying our clothes out the night before but they’d change their minds by morning and go through the whole, “I have nothing to wear” tirade.
I even set a kitchen timer in each bathroom to avoid the 30 minute shower scenario. Still, it was always the same thing: yelling, fighting, stressing.
Still, I thought we were getting to school with enough time to at least burst into the classroom just before the bell rang. Wrong! When one of the girls’ teachers called to say she was late to class most mornings, that was it.
New Rule: Be at the breakfast table by 7:45, eat and be out the door by 8:00 on the dot. If you’re late, you’re basically screwed because you will lose all privileges for the day. Their lack of planning would no longer make me an emergency responder.
Mornings are close to easy now.
Still, a friend of mine who incidentally, doesn’t have children, thinks it’s a little strict.
I say come on over! And don’t forget your harp!