Parent Fail 511 - The Little Red Bird

I am in the habit of going to bed around 11 o'clock. It works for me, kind of...
By "works for me" I mean sets me up for epic failure.

Somewhere out there is a full-time working mother of two. She is successful, with a high profile demanding job (unlike me). This woman gets up at 4:30 am, everyday, promptly at the sound of her first alarm. She eagerly crawls out of bed and slips into her favorite yoga pants. She tiptoes down the hallway, through her quiet house to her den and opens the blinds, letting the small hint of first light kiss her cheeks. There, in the soft rays of morning, she communes with nature. Her yoga poses are strong and firm as her feet press in the floor, grounding her. As she centers her body, she centers her mind. Her balanced chakras illuminate as her mind clears. In peace she meditates...

Around 5:30 am she makes her way into the kitchen. The aroma of rich bold coffee greets her. She takes her coffee black. She broke free from the poisonous addictive grip of sugar years ago. With her favorite coffee mug in hand, she sits at the table. Looking out the dining room bay window she sees a bright red cardinal. He lives in their young oak tree and feeds on the bird seed that she never forgets to refill. A peaceful grin spreads across her face as she exhales. *Oh little red bird. God's beautiful creation.* She turns to her Bible. She had placed on the table the night before, in preparation. She reads a devotion and chapter, then silently prays.

5:45am. She closes her Bible and takes it back to its place beside her bed. She showers, dresses, and does her hair and makeup. She had laid her clothes the night before, it's only 6:25 am. She wakes the children, dresses the youngest and sits them at the table.

6:35am. She serves the children some organic fruit and whole grain toast with avocado for breakfast. While they eat she quickly folds the load of laundry in the dryer and switches everything out. (She will put the clothes away after getting the children in bed tonight.) She empties the dishwasher so it will be empty for her load with dirty dishes after dinner. She grabs her lunch out of the frig.

6:55 am. Coats on, school bags ready, and out the door. Everybody loaded and out the driveway by 7:00am!

I HATE THAT LADY!!!!!!!

I REALLY want to get up early. When I do, like the 3 times a year that it happens, my day is magnificent. I love yoga and coffee and watching little red birds while I commune with God. I love getting housework out of the way so I am not drowning in it. I love feeding my kids real food for breakfast instead of handing them a pop-tart on the way out the door. (It normally ends up smashed between the car seats, decomposing slower than nuclear radiation. Lurking silently until I unexpectedly find its sticky carcass 3 weeks later while cleaning out my car.) I love not being rushed. I love having make up on before I leave the house! I want to see the little red bird! I want that SO bad.

EVERYDAY I try. EVERYDAY I fail.

My morning goes a little something like this...

4:30 am alarm-Don't even hear it.
4:45 am alarm-Don't even hear it.
5:00 am alarm-Don't even hear it.
5:15 am alarm-Don't even hear it.
5:30 am alarm-Don't even hear it.
5:45 am alarm-Don't even hear it.
6:00 am alarm-Don't even hear it.

*These are not snoozes going off they are separate alarms. The snoozes are not referenced here. I don't hear them either.

6:15 am alarm-I sleepily roll over and hit the snooze button. I rationalize that I can sleep until 6:30am. *AH Sleep! I love my bed. It is so warm. Dreams.*
6:30 am alarm-"SHIT!" David's voice wakes me up. Panic sets in. I jump out of bed and jump in the shower as quick as I can. David gets the kids up and makes me coffee and makes lunches. I dig through 2 or 3 laundry baskets of clean clothes searching for a clean pair of underwear. *Why are underpants so hard to find?* I continue digging to find a sweater or cardigan to wear. *Why is everything I own black?* I throw some wrinkled clothes on and blow dry my hair. I dress Caisley with whatever I grabbed out of the laundry basket for her. *Good thing babies don't have to match.* I do Caisley's hair. That is a ridiculous struggle. (David just can't do it.) There is normally lots of yelling at Colver to "get out of floor," "stop crying," "get dressed." There is normally a hunt for someone's shoes, or jacket, or toothbrush, or...you get the point. Finally everyone is dressed and headed out the door. Stepping over toys in the walkway, hands loaded with bags and babies, looking and feeling like a disheveled mess. It is somewhere between 7:15am and 7:30am  and we are late. Late. LATE!

I am tired and stressed. I spend the day swearing I am going to go to bed early so I can get up early and defeat the beast that is EVERYDAY.

BUT, that doesn't happen. Evenings bring challenges of their own. Often not home before 5:30 pm *David never before 6:30 pm*, the race to cook dinner, do homework, feed and bathe everyone, and get them in bed leaves me an exhausted heap on the couch, staring mindlessly at facebook or some Sci Fi show, living vicariously through fictional characters I am unhealthily attached to.

It is normally 9:00pm (at least) before the house is quiet and still. I look around at disaster. Dirty dishes in the sink. Mounds of laundry, I don't remember if they are clean or dirty. Toys shattered all over the floor. Dust an inch thick on my ceiling fan. Empty Diet. Dew cans all around. The recycling bin over flowing in the floor. The floors need swept and mopped. The bathrooms should be cleaned. There are lunches that need to be made. I know even if I clean it all up tonight tomorrow it fall to pieces again the following day. A cyclical battle I can never win. Exhausted. Defeated. I step over the toys and find my place on the couch and sit.There might be wine if my nerves are shot bad enough. I ignore the nagging responsibilities, too tried to move now. The next time I get up will be when I go to bed. I might speak to my husband, who is sitting across the room in his chair suffering from the same stifling exhaustion. Alone in the same room, we slowly decompress from having to be "ON" all day; from the chaos.

Finally, sometime between 10:00 pm and 12:00 am, one of us will sigh. That's the signal. BEDTIME!

Tomorrow is going to be a LONG day.
And so the cycle continues...

***

Somewhere out there is a mother, and she is just like me. She wants so badly to be that dynamic vision of productively and accomplishment. She wants to be that lady who gets up at 4:30 am to do yoga. She wants to be the master of her universe. She wants to see the red little bird. And she feels like she is drowning in failure everyday.

To her I say...To myself I say...You aren't failing. Yes, you aren't meeting some RIDICULOUS goal you set for yourself based on society's screwed up perception of what you should be as a mother, as a professional, as an individual. That isn't failure. This momma thing is hard, don't beat yourself up over yoga. *It totally goes against what yoga is about anyway.*

I may not see the little red bird in the soft rays of morning, but in the stillness, after everyone is in bed and I look around at the "disaster" and I see God's creations. They left a trail of their beauty across my living room floor. Their tiny clothes are heaped in baskets. My little birds.

***