One morning last year during school drop-off for my oldest child I found myself extremely amused by the overall feeling of disarray in my life at that given moment. Disarray actually seems like a kind word for describing my morning drives to the Elementary school and through the car line. I feel like “sucking at life” is probably more accurate. You see, each morning I go to battle. Despite it being the exact same every weekday morning, I am never quite prepared for the brutal pain that lay ahead of me each morning at 6am when my alarm goes off. I know that there will be yelling, whining, and I can guarantee that there will be tears. Whether those are the actions of the child, or myself usually varies from day to day. Getting a 6 year old (now 7) out of bed, fed, dressed, teeth brushed, hair brushed, out the door with her lunch and book bag IS NOT for the faint of heart. It is WAR.
After battle I stagger to my Mom-mobile stinking of morning breath because I prioritized her hygiene over mine for the sake of time. To help set the scene let me paint a picture for you, of what you would see were you to take in my appearance head-to-toe on these morning drives. My hair is disheveled as if it were indicative of the hard fought win, but really it’s because I woke up that way, I’m in some form of mismatched jammies-no bra (my “headlights” are on high beams because, well, they pretty much stay that way), I’ve got an energy drink in one hand, and no shoes on my feet. I look eerily similar to how I looked most mornings 15 years ago, except that I don’t reek of booze and I had way less fun the night before. <sigh> Such is life.
I have a group of girl friends that are all in a video chat group together and most mornings, someone pops on between 7 to 7:30am to start the conversation rolling for the day. The early morning chats are usually between those of us with school-aged kids, and almost always for the purpose of swapping war stories, or entertaining each other with the new level of suckage that
we our kids have reached.
Side note: I seriously think that a parent probably never hates their kid more than they do on any given school morning. Maybe on long car rides, but it’s probably a toss-up.
I’m one of the “lucky” moms in our chat group because I have the shortest drive to the school, about .3 miles. However, being on the PTO board puts me at extremely high risk of someone needing to chat with me at my car. My daughter has also inherited my stellar memory, so she is constantly forgetting her shit that I then have to race home to get and run inside to the front office. For some women these situations would be reason enough to wear real clothes during morning drop-off, or at least throw on a bra, but not me. At seven in the morning I couldn’t give a crap less about stuff like that. My one goal is getting back into my cozy bed as quickly as possible, and things like brushing my teeth, or putting on shoes are only going to slow me down.
As I mentioned, though, I do reflect some mornings, on the train wreck that I resemble and all of the worst possible scenarios that could arise while I am in this condition. It was during one of these moments of reflection while on video chat with my fellow soldiers that I came up with the realization that I was the complete embodiment of a classic country song. A song, that only one of my kind was fit to write. A song that would be called “Barefoot, Braless, and Barely Hanging On”.
The song has a few lines, and I’ve fiddle with a chorus, but it is still a work in progress. I’ll add it to the pile of things I don’t have time to give my full attention to. I have some things I would like to say before my lap top battery runs out, so here goes:
If you made your child cry this morning by brushing their hair…… I see you.
If your child’s hair is in mats and tangles because they chose not to wash it when they showered the night before and you’re pretty sure there are chunks of food in it from breakfast two days ago…… I see you.
If you’d rather your kid’s principal see your saggy boobs, and hard nipples glaring through your pajama top than exert the effort needed to put a bra on….. I see you.
If the breakfast you made for your child was a pack of fruit snacks that they ate in the car on the way to school…… I see you.
If there is a split second each morning that you find yourself wanting to run over the mom that is walking her child into school in a cute outfit and full face of make-up…. I feel you.
6 am, 7am, even 8am (in my opinion) is too early to be held accountable for your actions. Emotions run high that early in the morning, things are said and done that you have to live with… just know, Mama, you. are. not. alone. I SEE YOU, unfortunately so does everyone else in the school parking lot- but don’t worry your messy little head about it for one second. You are the star of your own country song, and the day can only get better from here.