She's 8

I feel like I am suddenly the mother of a sixteen year old. She's 8. {Well 8 and a half if you want to get technical}. This child will be the end of me. I'm sure of it. Big time struggles in the morning, every morning make for an unhappy grump of a mama. This is our morning as of late...

Alarm goes off at 5:40 a.m. I hit snooze one time then get up.

Go upstairs and flip on the lights.

Pick out Hayley-Boo's outfit for the day. {Cait's too if she didn't the night before}

Pull Caitlynn's covers off.

Cait covers her head with a pillow and groans an alarmingly irritated groan at me.

I gently give her a little shake. Time to get up.

She grips the top of her bed, groans again-more irritated though.

Hayley pops up smiling, "Mommy! Chicken!!". yes. She says 'chicken' randomly. Started this two weeks ago and no clue how, what, why, when, where she picked that up, but she does it.

Shake Cait again a little more forcefully. Nothing.
Tickle her. Get a little flop out of her but she's still clinging to the bed.

I grab on to her ankles and literally drag her off the bed. Yes. I drag her. And she grumbles and mumbles but finally she stands up and I hand her her outfit and she trudges down the stairs. And she sits on the couch. And covers her head with a pillow.

We have wasted approximately 15 minutes at this point. So she has about 15 minutes roughly to get herself ready to make it to the bus.

5 minutes pass and she's still either wearing PJs or is just in her undies. I say you need to get moving you have 10 minutes and you still have to brush your hair, brush your teeth, put on socks and shoes, take your medicine, and get your coat and stuff on. To which she says "OK!" like I haven't just asked her 20 times to do it. Like she's already dressed and ready to go...only she's not.

It's not until we are down to 2 minutes to go that she somehow gets the lead out and even then it's only with prodding. Come on. Two minutes. Yep, you're late. You must put your coat on now. And then about 5 minutes after that she gets out the door and sprints to her bus stop.

Then Hayles asks me for a pop-tart...but not just any pop-tart. A brown sugar pop-tart and cartoons so that I can go get ready. And then we have peace for the 15 minutes I now have left to shower, dress, and make myself look less like Frazzled Mommy and more like Polished Professional.

Hustle Hayley out the door with whatever toy {or toys} she insists on bringing with her that day and get her to the sitter. Along the way she says Mom, can we go left? Is this left? Can you just go already? (which is at the same place EVERY morning because we get stuck behind traffic). Can I listen to Caits music, I don't like this song. Why don't you have it? You need to get it. Mom, where's Ella? Is she at school? Did Daddy go to work?
This is a 4 minute drive.

Drop her off. Then I sit in traffic. Lots and lots of traffic. And don't even get me started on it if it happens to be raining, or misting, or about to rain because any type of condensation seems to cause panic in drivers here and they start getting all crazy.

So long story short, by the time I get to work I am in need of a stiff drink. Maybe two on some days.

Couldn't I just get up earlier? Yes. I have tried. And then I endure this routine for just a longer stretch of time. That's right...to my child, more time equals more time to complain about being sleepy and that I am mean for making her get up when it's dark outside. She should tell that to the school administrators for making an 8 year old get on the bus at 6:30 am. Yes. 6:30.

She's 8. Heaven help me in 8 years.