Racing against the clock to beat morning blues

Well, hello there!

Happy Wednesday. We’re halfway through the week — the days are getting longer, the weather is getting a little warmer, and Friday is just two days away. Life is good!

This morning was a real patience tester — I only had one school drop-off today because our older two girls are at their mom’s place. I woke up, put on the coffee, started boiling water for my picky kid’s usual lunch: a thermos full of buttered noodles. I’ve given up fighting with my spirited 6-year-old about lunch. At least I know with the noodles she’ll eat.

The morning was a rushed slog. My daughter was moving at a snail’s pace getting ready for school, while I felt like I was maneuvering like a maniac trying to make sure nothing was forgotten. Lunch. Water bottle. Home reading. Agenda. CHECK! I was annoying myself with the constant “C’mons” and “Hurry ups” and “We’re gonna be lates” that I was spewing. It must be comical to see us experiencing the exact same routine in such dramatically different paces.

We made it into the van, her with a little plastic bowl of cut-up toast and a tumbler of milk for a to-go breakfast, and me in my winter coat and Sorels overtop of my pajamas. Tired eyes, messy bun and under-eye bags that not even the best concealer can help. I am that mom in the drop-off line.

We get to school. We’re late, but just barely. I count this as a win… until I realize that we forgot her snow pants.

In the grand scheme of things, this is not a big deal at all. Stuff happens, and it’s only another 15 or 20 minutes tacked on to our already late morning. However, in the moment it took everything in me to remain calm. This morning had been nagging at me, and these forgotten snow pants were the final straw. ARRRGH!

It’s funny how something so small such as forgetting a pair of snow pants can really throw a wrench in your morning. But it did. And there I was, feeling all defeated in the loading zone, telling my kid to get back into her seat (because COVID protocols say it’s best that parents don’t go into schools, so we should probably go back home together and get those snow pants rather than have me drop her off, then go get them and drop them off inside the school.) When I tell you that I was about to cry over something so incredibly silly as this little glitch in the morning, I am being dead serious.

But, I pulled myself together, let out a big sigh instead of anything more, and told my kid not to worry about it.

“Sometimes we’re late. It’s not a big deal.”

I am grateful to have her in these moments, though admittedly the tears and overreaction sometimes win out. But, in the grand scheme of things, she grounds me and makes me have to try harder to look at annoying situations from a longer, more thoughtful lens. Did this morning kinda suck? Yes. Are we even gonna remember it tomorrow? Probably not. It was just a little glitch, and it was not the end of the world.

Someone told me that these are the moments and memories — all the good and hard work that went into these kids— that we’ll cherish one day when they’ve grown up. They’re right. These are the moments that make life and our stories interesting.

I just realized that this is only my second newsletter and I am once again writing about snow pants. I promise you I am not being paid off by the snow-pant industry. It’s just a weird coincidence. I promise I won’t write about snow pants every week.

I also wanted to take a second to say a humble and heartfelt thank you to anyone who reached out to me about the column I wrote this week. I was nervous about writing this particular column, and sharing my out-of-hand wine/alcohol habit and how I am working to break — or take a pause — on that habit. Alcohol in my family and culture carries a great deal of shame and stigma, and I have been meaning to address it for a long time. I sometimes experience anxiety about sharing things or being vulnerable in such a public way, but I felt compelled to share because that’s when I do my best work — when it comes from a vulnerable place and in case anyone in a similar situation needed to hear it. The response from so many of you (to which I am still responding to emails) has been so supportive and kind. I appreciate all of the feedback I’ve received so far more than I can even say. Thank you.

Shelley Cook, Columnist