Parenting: The Morning Shit Show

​WARNING: Explicit, frustrated, tired parent language
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No matter how many times I wrestle with getting socks and shoes on my kids in the morning or getting teeth brushed and faces washed or getting a coat on or a seatbelt buckled or a bag packed, the simple-process-turned-painful-multi-chapter-dramatic-comedy-that-isn’t-funny never ceases to make me crazy. The lightening transition from peaceful morning snuggle to infuriating shit show is simply too fast for my simple emotional self to navigate.

So, then I swing wildly from this-is-ridiculous-and-what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you to why-is-this-pissing-me-off-so-much-and-what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-me!?

At some point, however, my kids and I do actually have to leave for school and, whether any of us likes it or not, the school does require the basic bits of clothing to be in place and for my kid to be there and on time, or I’m the one who gets in trouble. I have no choice. It has to get done. I have to make it get done. And, I’m probably a little pissed about that too!

Martial law. Get it done. Out the door. Crazy into the car. Kids to school.

And then, the shit show miraculously stops in its tracks once the threat of seeing friends and teachers is present. Fuck that too, by the way!

“Have a wonderful day, girls. I love you. Always and forever. No matter what.”

Those words are for them. They don’t help me on these mornings. I feel like an asshole and a failure and generally feel like shit - all before I’ve even had coffee or gotten to work.

Now, I’m in my car in silence reflecting on why it had to be like this, how it got so crazy, why does this keep happening and what is wrong with me and what is wrong with my kid and when do we set up the counseling sessions and how fucked up will she be as a teenager because I’m such an asshole, but at least she’ll be a teenager that knows there are certain rules that have to be followed and that life isn’t always what you want it to be but then again I want her to know what rules she should break, but, by god, they better not be mine! Why do I have another headache today?

And, just like that, off to work.

Somehow, over the next 8 or 9 hours, I recover. I don’t know it’s happening. I’m not sure how it’s happening or even why.

But, by the end of the day, all I want to do is see my kids. Yes, seeing them opens the possibility of another shit show. And, if that happens, I run the risk of putting them to bed the same way I felt when I dropped them at school.

“Let’s have a better day tomorrow.”

I pour a glass of bourbon. Stare at the TV for an hour. Go to bed. And, somehow, over the next 8 or 9 hours, I recover. I don’t know it’s happening. I’m not sure how it’s happening or even why.

But, by the next morning, all I want to do is see my kids.

Here we go again.