The Dangers of Gangsters and Chirdren In The Morning

Mornings with kids are beautiful and vulnerable, like an elegant land mine. If you step over it, there’s no problem. If you step on it you’ll  loose a leg.

My ego often times rides on morning success.  If the forty five minutes before the bus arrives goes well, I’m convinced everyone will have a bright and shiny day and I get to drive to work feeling like a successful mother.  If the morning is ugly, filled with tension or tears, I end up clutching the wheel, convinced  everyone will have a terrible, awful, no good, day really bad day

Mornings are like see-saws made out of Legos.   Too much pressure and the whole damn thing falls apart. When Mary was little she hated socks and having her hair brushed so mornings were really treacherous.

Now it’s Lexie, Sandor and me in the morning.  Lexie keeps herself on track. She’s sleepy but focused in the morning. She has a high school routine and it’s important not to derail her train.  Left alone she is excellent as long as there is hot water and cereal.  I just have to say the right things when she asks about belts, shoes, shirts and hair. Crimped or straight? Pony tail or crazy insane curls? Cowboy boots or Pumas?

I try not to give her jobs in the morning, instead I make a list and leave it on the kitchen table. At the end of the list there are lots of xxxooo  because I love her so much, especially when she unloads the dish washer.

At nine, Sandor is an entirely different creature. He’s a sloth like animal who doesn’t like to eat first thing in the morning. He doesn’t want to do anything except hug for the first hour.

In the morning, Sandor sees his clothes but I have to remind him to put them on.  He sits in front of his bowl of cereal but I have to remind him to eat. He finds his shoes but I have to insist he puts them on. 

One tactic I use on Sandor to wake his fuzzy brain up is silly, but works.  I set up goofy games on the kitchen table or leave a puzzle out with only two missing pieces. 

This morning  I sat on the edge of his bed. “There’s a secret message on the kitchen table for you.”

“What is it?” He opens his eyes.

“Not telling, you have to check it out yourself.”

“Who left it?”

“I don’t know.”

He staggers out and laughs when he sees my stupid message made with Scrabble letters. It says, “Yo Gangsa Face”.  I leaveextra letters out so he can add to the note.  He’s a nine year old boy so, of course, he adds the word “butt”.   The word “butt” makes everything funnier.

Mornings can be tricky but I have skills and sometimes manage to avoid the land mines.

*What’s your secret in the mroning?  Comment or e-mail me. I love that. hampoland@gmail.com