Last night I had the foresight to prep the coffeemaker before I went to bed. So a touch of the button was all it needed to perk up and start brewing that black gold, that elixir of life. The outdoor temperature read 11 degrees when I got up at 6:30 this morning. Brrrr. What a good day to stay inside and read a good book. Instead, it was time for the morning rush.
For me, the morning rush is a carefully orchestrated symphony of movements – from making breakfasts; to trotting upstairs and down multiple times as my family’s live, personal alarm clock; to getting lunches made and packed – with sips of life-saving coffee in between. There is no time for wasted actions or human error.
Which is why the Monday morning rush can be so filled with angst. I decided to take pity on my bus-riding daughter this morning and give her a ride to school. This is problematic, however, as she and her brother need to be at different schools within fifteen minutes of each other.
Now, my daughter has two speeds, lounging and relaxing. Getting her to move quickly in the morning involves a lot of threats and shouting on my part. This morning, of course, we had the crisis of the printer that would not print her paper. This involved a lot of shouting on her part. By the time we were ensconced in the car and moving toward school, we were both on edge.
A sane person under these circumstances would be silent and nonconfrontational. I, however, chose to spend the drive haranguing my child about her lateness and chronic inability to be prepared for school the night before. She, of course, replied, “Why don’t you just kill me?!” (Oh boy, the temptation)
Back at home, my teenage son was waiting for the motherly chauffeur to get him off to school. In contrast to the bitter words between my daughter and me, my son and I did not speak at all on the ride. After battling the insane traffic around the school, I finally pulled into my garage and just sat in my car, enjoying the peace and quiet.
The morning rush is not quite over, though. There is still a husband to get to the train, and God forbid that we should leave ourselves a few extra minutes to get across the train tracks. I once told my husband as we frantically pulled up to the station, “This is the most stressful part of my day!” His reply was that I had a pretty nice life if the most stressful part of my day was over by 8:30.
Indeed. At least until the after school crunch!