Harrison:

He calls to me an hour before the alarm would go off. Mama, mama, mama. MAMA! He gets louder the longer I ignore him. What are the chances he’ll go back to sleep if you leave him, Logan asks? Slim to none, I say as I get out of bed.

MAMA, he squeals as I walk in his bedroom. Shhh baby, it’s quiet time. See, the sun isn’t up yet, I say, as I pick him up. (Anymommy, this sun shit doesn’t work. You got a better idea?) As we walk down to the kitchen for a bottle of milk, he jabbers constantly. This boy is a morning person, that I know for sure. Evey forth word is a word I know: milk, sissy, ball, wow, uh oh, goggie, dada. They don’t make sense yet, but he’s showing off his skills.

Mix the formula one handed, as he doesn’t like to be down in the morning. Why don’t we go see daddy, I ask him. Yeah, lets visit daddy. Dada, kak kak, he says back to me. Every morning, it’s the same thing. I get him and make the bottle, we go back to my bedroom and I basically hand him off to his daddy, as I try and hide under the covers for another half hour. They play some odd game involving duck noises as I try unsuccessfully to go back to sleep. When the alarm finally goes off, Logan goes to shower and I take back over. It’s at this point when I pull out the big guns. Namely the matchbox cars that I keep in my bedside table. Two cars, one for each hand and my boy is a happy boy.  Soon, it’s time to wake the girls.

Bailey:

I wake her first because she is easy. Simple as that, she is easy to wake. Easy to make get dressed. Bailey, wake up love, it’s time to get ready for school, I say as I sit on their bed (Yes, my girls share a bed. Swear it’s by choice though, as they both have beds.) She wakes up easily, rolls over and sits up. As she hugs me, she says, I get to go to kindergarten again right? Yes, you do. Okay, then. Can I have donuts for breakfast? Uh, no, you can have cereal for breakfast. Oh man, she says, laughing. We do this every day. Her just hoping for the day when I say, yes, we can have donuts for breakfast.

She gets up and heads towards the bathroom. Please wash your face and brush your teeth I tell her. She still needs to be told. When she’s done, she comes and sits on me for a few minutes. I tickle her and laugh at her jokes, play with her hair and then I hand her her clothes. Clothes that we picked out the night before, because I don’t deal with clothes issues in the morning.

She talks a mile a minute about school as we walk down the hallway toward the kitchen. I need coffee, I think to myself. Instead of saying it, I answer her nine million questions. She picks her cereal as I grab the specific Disney bowl she requested. She pours her cereal and I pour the milk. As she eats, she talks constantly. She stops to chew, because she knows better than to talk with her mouth full. Between bites, she tells me again how much she loves school. How she met so many new friends. Where her teacher sits during reading time, what book they read and how many times she had to be reminded that reading time is quiet time. I remind her again that today I’d like that number of reminders, to be a bit less. She agrees.

I make her lunch and then braid her hair. I ask her about ten times to pick her backback up off the floor in her room and put it by the door to the garage. Please find shoes that match I tell her. Strange child, I think as I shake my head.

On the way to school, we sing to every song that comes on the radio. Ooohhhh I like this one mama, turn it up, she says at least three times.

One kiss and a hug good-by at her door and she’s off. She doesn’t even look back to see me leave.

Morgan:

I wake her three times before she even acts awake. One day, I will leave this to her, but seven and a half is too young, right? I think this to myself each time I have to wake her up. She rolls over and glares at me. Mom, I’m tired. Yes, so am I, I tell her. You still have to get up and get ready for school. I’m ready for summer again, she says. Oh it’s going to be a long year, I think.

I wake her last, after her sister is out of the room for two reasons. One, she is a mean morning person and her sister being happy bugs her to no end. Two, she gets ready much quicker.

I poke and prod her. I sing to her. I tickle her. I finally tell her I will dump Harrison on her if she doesn’t get up. He’s too big for that mom, he’ll crush me, she says. Fine, I’m up. Are you happy now? Sure my darling girl, I’m thilled. Please get dressed and come eat breakfast.

I’m not wearing that, she says as she walks to the bathroom. That is the dumbest outfit ever. I have ugly clothes. I’d rather be nekkid than wear that. Whatever Morgan, I tell her. You picked it. At the store and last night you picked it. I don’t care what you wear, as long as you come to the kitchen fully dressed. I am not in the mood for this, I tell her.

We will do this for the next nine months. At some point, I know she will show up in the kitchen with no clothes on, or her PJ’s still on, just to argue with me some more. Today, her clothes are still brand new. They still have tags on them, which makes her happy. It’s no longer new, once the tags have been removed.

She comes into the kitchen fully dressed. Thank you, I say. I appreciate you doing what I asked. No response is given, although I didn’t need one. I hand her a breakfast bar and a glass of juice. I also hand her an Adderall. She drinks the juice and takes the pill and rolls her breakfast bar up in a napkin, to eat later. Like me, she’s not a fan of breakfast. She puts it in her lunch box. I didn’t want a mini-bagel today, she cries. I hate those. Well, you wouldn’t tell me last night, so that is what you got. Trade with Mackenzie (her bff), you know she loves those. Fine, that’s what I’ll do then. Auntie Kate makes better lunches anyway. I’d say something back, but it’s useless. Plus? I know my best friend is having the same arguement at her house right now with Mackenzie. There is a reason they are as good of friends as Kate and I are. Most likely, the girls will switch lunches and both be thrilled with it.

Head band on her head, flip-flops on her feet and she’s ready to go. Her back pack, neatly put by the garage door the night before is in hand.

She pushes Bailey out of the door and I yell at her. Why do you do that, I ask? Because she was in my way, is the response. I should say more, but I know it’s like talking to a brick wall this early in the morning. On the way to school, she warms up a bit. She tells me about her need to find a good book at the library today. She reminds me that I didn’t sign her reading slip from last night. No, I did after you went to bed. I put it in your Hannah Montana folder, I tell her. Oh good, thank you mommy. I smile at her. Might be the only mommy, I get all day.

As I drop her off, I get one quick hug, before she runs off to find her friends.

This is my new normal. I don’t mind it really. It’s comforting.