Morning Madness: A Typical Day in Our Household
“Mark, Mary, wake up… time for school,” I shouted, my voice probably carrying to the next town. I’ve noticed my husband covering his ears when I try to wake the kids. Despite my loud calls, Mark and Mary continued to sleep soundly, as if my shouting was a soothing melody to them. Mark and Mary are twins and they are in the 2nd grade.
“Wake up, wake up,” I said, yanking their blankets off. With all the technological advancements these days, I wish someone would invent something to wake kids up, like a robot hand disturbing the kids until they open their eyes. I need to Google that later. Maybe something is available in the market. My thoughts wandered as the pressure cooker whistled, preparing potato fritters for their tiffins.
“In 5 minutes, I want you both at the dining table for breakfast,” I commanded, rolling my eyes. Mary gets scared when I roll my eyes, but Mark remains unfazed—he only gets scared if I threaten to take away his gadgets.
“Why are you wearing this torn dress?” my husband asked, clearly unaware of my lack of breathing space. The kids leave home at 7:30 am, and he leaves at 8:00 am. I finally get a moment to take a deep breath at 8:05 am, once the house is empty.
“Torn? Where?” I asked him. He pointed at a large hole in my sleeve.
“Oh my gosh, how did this happen? It’s a new dress,” I said, dismayed. “I’ve only worn it twice.” But there was no time to dwell on it—the pressure cooker was whistling. I can be sad at 8:05, not now. No time!
“I’m leaving early today, at 7:30,” my husband, Evan, said.
“Evan, why couldn’t you tell me sooner?” I asked, frustrated.
“I forgot,” he replied with his usual excuse.
I need to know things in advance to prepare properly. Why don’t they understand this?
Last-minute rushing isn’t my thing because I like to be prepared. Knowing things ahead of time helps me stay organized and calm. When things are last minute, it stresses me out and throws off my routine. I prefer having a plan and avoiding the chaos of rushing around.
A special class for 2nd grade!
Somehow, I managed to get the breakfast table ready, and everyone was eating.
I finally sat down with them.
“I think this chicken sandwich needs less cheese. It’s too much,” my daughter Mary remarked.
“Okay, chef, noted,” I said with a grin. Mary rarely has opinions about most things, but when it comes to food, she’s always ready to offer her critique. She has an impressive knack for noticing the smallest details. Just the other day, two kids were fighting on the street over a candy. The winner would get the candy. Mary, in her usual fashion, went and ate the candy herself, then informed them, “This candy isn’t worth fighting over. They used a mix of strawberry, lemon, mint, and garlic. It’s not a good combo. If they avoided garlic, it would have been fine.”
“Where is my candy?” the boys demanded, “That’s my favorite candy.” They stopped fighting and were about to hit her when I intervened and resolved the situation. When it comes to food, Mary is a troublemaker. There have been many such incidents. I often wonder how she identifies the ingredients so accurately.
“I’ll be late today. I have a meeting at 6,” Evan said.
“Going early and coming home late,” I remarked.
“I’m an ideal employee,” he replied with a wink.
“I’ll be late too,” Mark chimed in.
“Why?” I asked.
“I have… a… special class,” he stammered, struggling to come up with a plausible reason. At seven years old, he’s not exactly skilled at lying.
“Special class… for second grade?” I chuckled.
“I’ll be late too,” Mary added.
“Why?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“If he has a special class, then I have one too. We’re in the same class,” Mary said seriously. She turned to Mark, “Do we need to carry extra books for the extra class?”
“Enough of this ‘late’ drama. If we don’t get moving, you’ll all be late. It’s already 7:20,” I said. The bus was already honking outside, and there was no time to lose.
Endless Arguments
As I bid them goodbye, I said to Mark, “Tell your teacher you can’t stay for the special class because they need to email and inform us in advance,” planting a kiss on his forehead.
“Maybe… the teacher… doesn’t… know about the special class,” Mark replied hesitantly, “or forgot… to email.”
I sighed. Mark is a tough one to argue with. He can spin tales endlessly, and just when you think you’ve got him cornered, he comes up with a new angle. Arguing with him can feel like running in circles; he always has something to say, even if it’s completely made up, like the ‘special class’. When I confronted him, he claimed the teacher might have forgotten to inform us. And in the end, who won the argument? It’s a common scenario in our house. If my daughter causes trouble when she opens her mouth to eat, my son creates problems when he opens his mouth to speak.
The Party Ghost
“I’m going, bye,” Evan said as he was about to leave. He was already dressed in his formal light blue shirt and grey pants. He planted a quick kiss on my cheek as he headed out.
“Remember, there’s a party at Shami’s house tonight,” I reminded him.
“I don’t think I can make it,” he replied. “You go ahead, please.”
“You hated their parties, and now you’ve found an excuse to skip, right?” I teased.
“It’s not the party I hate, it’s the people there, and I hate how you change after those parties. Last time, you made me buy this car overnight. It’s like a ghost possesses you when you go to that party, and I hate that. Hopefully, no ghosts this time,” he said as he started the car.
He wasn’t wrong; I did come out of those parties a different person.
“Even though I forced you to buy the car, wasn’t it the best decision? You love that car, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s true,” he admitted, starting the engine. “Just promise me you won’t ask for an airplane this time. I don’t have enough money for that,” he teased as he drove away.
“I can’t promise you anything,” I muttered as I closed the door.
After a long battle of the morning war, having tea is my victory. For some time, nobody is here to disturb me. Just me and my shadow.
After a long battle of the morning rush, having a tea feels like a victory. For a while, nobody is here to disturb me. Just me and my shadow. As I sip my tea, I feel calm. The warmth of the cup and the rich smell help me relax. It’s a brief, precious moment where I can just be myself, free from distractions and tasks. This quiet time lets me recharge and get ready for the day ahead, making it a cherished part of my routine.
This is something most homemaker moms would enjoy—sending the kids to school, then the husband, and finally being alone with their morning drink. It’s a heavenly feeling.
I got a notification on my phone: “Today is the party! Who’s excited?” one of my neighbors asked. It’s a community party, and everyone responded with “excited.” I joined in and sent my reply too.
Some of the husbands responded with, “Not excited.”
I checked for my husband’s reply, and I saw that he was typing for a while. However, in the end, no message came through, and he stopped typing as well.