Growing Up In Oz

She’s a morning person… said no one EVER.

You know that some e-card going around about the 100 degree weather? Well, it made me chuckle not only because of the weather (honestly, I feel like I can’t complain because last year was a million times worse and let’s face it- I work in an office) but because I need to make one of those about Madison and her lack of any redeeming qualities before the hour of 8 a.m.

Seriously, she’s a lovely child. She uses her manners, she’s scary smart and when you ask her to do anything/share anything her answer is “of course.” 99% of the time there is no one else I’d rather be around.

Mornings on the other hand make me want to dive face first into a giant vat of whiskey and not resurface until she’s seen 3 episdoes of dora and had a carafe of coffee.

A morning person, she is not.

Beginning the moment I gently rub on her back under the softly dim lights of her room saying good morning sunshine until the time I kiss her goodbye at daycare is the most stressful and mind numbing hour of my day.

We have to take a phased approach with waking Madison up. It begins by opening her door all the way, turning on the hallway light and going about our business of making lunches and feeding dogs in the kitchen. After a few minutes we go back, turn the lights on in her room very dimly and rub her back to wake her up. This is usually met by one of the following phrases…

“It’s not good morning, it’s still bed time.”

“Mommy, I just really want to go back to sleep.”

“jfkasljreiasojfieajfaekljfakl” which translates as immediate non-sensical crying (those mornings are particularly enjoyable)

On the days she sits up with relatively little whining I’m given what I like to call a “glimmer of false hope.”

I think we’re going to be smooth sailing but what is really happening in her 2.5 year old brain is the twirling of wild thoughts of all the fun things she would like to do right this instant (read: watch Dora or Super Why) and the cue for hysterics & dramatic toddler antics goes off the second I suggest we should go potty and get dressed and THEN we can watch Dora & eat our yogurt.

Because all she hears is potty…. and her world is rocked. There is no back tracking or negotiating. I’m forced to listen to crying interspersed with words & phrases that I can’t understand because she’s too busy being devastated by the most preposterous notion ever of having to empty her bladder.

Once we’ve settled her down and assured her a million times over that Dora will in fact still save the Crystal Kingdon AFTER she’s done going to the bathroom and getting dressed comes one of my most favorite fights of the morning…. the pre-breakfast snack disaster.

The girls get breakfast at daycare but sometimes it isn’t until 7:30 or 8 so my solution was to give them a snack before the leave to keep their tummies held over until then.

Folks, I’m batting 0 in getting her the correct combination of drink and food.

If I put a smoothie & a cereal bar? She wants chocolate milk and cheerios. If I put out chocolate milk and a banana? She wants yogurt and strawberries.

I.Can’t.Win.

Many of you might wonder why I don’t ask her what she wants. (actually, I lie… only those of you who don’t have a toddler (pre-schooler?) would wonder that)

Because if I do ask her what she wants I’m met with one of three scenarios:

1. She tells me what she wants, I get it for her & it’s wrong (wrong flavor yogurt, wrong sippy cup, wrong spoon).
2. She tells me what she wants and then cries anyway because she doesn’t want to eat/drink/BE AWAKE.
3. She tells me she doesn’t want anything & then cries when I make her at least eat or drink a little of something.

It’s basically as effective as banging your head repeatedly up against the wall, although that might be slightly more effective because I would imagine you could get some sort of cheap high off that.

And then for good measure we round off the morning with at least two more rounds of crying because of a various combination of the following:

• She doesn’t want her hair brushed.
• She doesn’t want her shoes on.
• She doesn’t want to go to school.
• She doesn’t want to bring that bear to school.

and so on & so on…

But once we get in the car? It’s like a magic switch turns on. She’s excited about school & her friends. There are no more tears and she walks into school every morning, waves good bye and goes on about her day like a big girl.

All that is left as I walk out of the school are the distant memories of her fits, overshadowed by immense pride & slight sadness that my girl is getting so big and discovering things in life without me around to witness all of it.

…. until 6 a.m. the next day comes & we start all over again.