Ah the morning ‘routine’ (I use the term loosely). Every week day morning I’m whirling around in a vortex of mascara, nappies, dry shampoo, Weetabix and nursery bags, sucking up anything and everything in my path. The whirlwind eventually spits me out a harassed woman on the edge at my desk by 9am feeling like I’ve done a day’s work already.
And every god damn day I convince myself I’m going to be organised. Enough of the madness; tomorrow I will be prepared. Here’s what I promise myself I will do that evening:
- Iron my work clothes
- Wash and dry my hair
- Make a packed lunch
- Get Willow’s nursery clothes out ready
- Pack her nursery bag
- Get into bed by 10pm
What could possibly go wrong?
By 5pm my resolution is waning, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I have to collect Willow from nursery and the whole play, tea, bath and bed charade is looming in front of me. So here’s what actually happens:
- We usually don’t get to eat our evening meal until after 8pm, fraught from bedtime negotiations and attempting to put the house back together.
- I’m still up at 11pm in a vegetative state watching some rubbish on TV mentally chastising myself that I should have gone to bed an hour ago. I still don’t move. Hair is not washed or dried. Idiot.
- I have to get up at 6:30am, knackered because of the pointless TV watching, but this is the only way I’ll get my hair washed and dried and a smattering of makeup applied before Willow wakes up.
- I grab clothes of the ‘clean’ pile that look the least crumpled.
- I consider making a sandwich for my lunch then Willow will launch her breakfast everywhere and the thought is forgotten only to be regretted later on when I’m stuck with a crusty cheese sandwich from the canteen at work.
- I wear my dressing gown over my work clothes to prevent being covered in Weetabix, snot, and or toothpaste. The result is slightly crumpled clothes now look like they have been trampled on by a rhino.
- I remember to pack Willow’s nursery bag as we are leaving the house but only because I see it hanging on her hook by the door and am reminded to do so.
- I run out the door, wrestle Willow into her car seat and vow that I’m going to be more organised that night.
Sound familiar? I’m sure a lot of you can relate to this morning shambles. People tell me it will get easier. Whatever.
Any suggestions for getting my ass organised? Or am I a lost cause – you can say it, we’re friends.