The Importance of Morning Mojo: Thursday-10, Carrie-0

You may not have a term for it, but you know exactly what it is: morning mojo. It’s that sweet spot where you can let your kids sleep just long enough, but then when they get up, they have plenty of time to get dressed, strip the bed someone peed on overnight (oh wait…that’s just my house), eat a quick breakfast, brush teeth and hair, and then get out the door to school on time.

I’m not gonna lie…my kids and I have gotten pretty good at this. Jeff leaves early for the office so he can, *ahem*, “get home early at night” (for those of you thinking he also probably wants to avoid the morning routine as much as possible, you are correct).

And even though I’m not a food blogger, I’m going to give you the recipe that has been passed to me by friends at church (thank you, Susan and Lori!) for a quick and awesome kid breakfast: The Waffle Taco. I know it sounds weird, but here goes:

The Waffle Taco:

Toast an ordinary frozen waffle in your toaster, pull it out, fold it in half, and on the inside where normally the taco goodness goes…spread Nutella in there. Yum.

You. Are. Welcome. My kids can consume this breakfast in the car in about a minute flat. Yes, they may go into school looking like I fed them chocolate for breakfast (it’s hazelnut!!!), but I’m not all that worried about the judgment…

So while most mornings go relatively well in our house (the kids wait until afternoon to really ramp up the crazy), I will admit with full candor that, last week, I lost my morning mojo.

“Hello, my name is Carrie, and I’ve lost my morning mojo. It has been four days since I last saw it, and if it doesn’t return, I may start making Irish coffees at 6am on weekdays.”

Last Thursday was picture day at Sarah’s school, and I usually volunteer to help with herding children and crowd control on picture days. The three kids and I plan to be at school about 15 minutes earlier than normal to greet the photographer, help her set up, etc. Seriously? Did I really believe that I could throw a curveball to the morning mojo and not strike out? I did, but I was very, very wrong.  Here, I humbly submit my timeline for last Thursday morning (or its street name, “The Arkansas Ass-Kicking”).

6:30. I am up earlier than normal to wear clothes deemed acceptable to society. I look nice, have fixed my hair, and have even put on makeup. Win.

6:45 Jeff and I argue about something dumb and he goes to work. I head up to wake the kids.

6:46. I choose Sarah first because she is excited about picture day and has already laid out her outfit that she picked out herself the night before. She starts out cheerful, dons the outfit, and is immediately unhappy.

6:48-7:05. Tearful (on her side) and very teenager-y fit about clothes, how I’m not supporting her self-expression to wear what she wants…wait…what? I don’t care what she wears. Honestly…but she has crossed over…and I’m apparently not helping her find an appropriate outfit…”what? I just gave you, like, 5 options, Sarah. Maybe I should just go wake the boys and you can wear whatever you want. I’m honestly fine with whatever you choose!” Wow. Didn’t see this coming.

7:06. Wake Tate. Tell him he can wear whatever he wants, but we are going to Sarah’s school. In a never-before-seen miracle, Tate complies. He even looks nice. I strip his peed-on bed and head to wake Sawyer.

7:10. Sawyer, also in a bad mood, was awakened by his sister’s outfit drama. He is standing in his crib crying. His crib sheet is also wet. I get him dressed, Sarah comes in in her fifth outfit of the morning, Tate is ready (he even has shoes on! Who IS this kid?!?), and we head down for breakfast.

7:20-7:52. Waffle tacos, brushing teeth, brushing hair, feeding dog, Sarah upset again about something inexplicable.

7:52. I text the principal that we’re heading out the door, and sorry we’re late but we’re in the car.

7:53. I back out of the garage, have trouble turning my steering wheel, and…

Yes, folks, that is a very flat tire. And I am even more pissed about it because…

Yep. I’m the dumbass who bragged to the Facebook gods that I had paid off my car. To celebrate and to make sure my car would make it to Tennessee to visit our families in March, Jeff bought me a new set of tires…on Wednesday. That’s right, people. This brand new tire had been on my car for less than 18 hours.

7:58. Kids in car, car parked in the middle of the cul-de-sac with flat tire, and I call Jeff, who’s clearly expecting an apology for this morning’s tiff but instead is greeted with the joyful news that my brand new tire is toast. Flag down neighbors on the way to elementary school so Sarah won’t be late. Text principal picture of flat tire.

8:15. Next door neighbor attempts to change tire, but we can’t figure out how to get the spare out. Jeff drives up and shakes his head. “What did you do, Carrie?” Yep, gonna go with not the way to begin this conversation. “Let’s see. I drove the car home yesterday from the tire place, parked it in our garage, and when I put the kids in to drive to school, the tire was flat.”

8:20. Jeff hooks our little air compressor to the cigarette lighter in my car, and we wait for the tire to air up. “Just go on, Carrie. I can handle this. Just go on to school.” I’m a little worried. His plan is to drive the car with the air compressor in the car with him so he can air up on the 3-mile drive if he needs to.

8:40. Tire is finally aired up, and we jump in the cars. I’m taking Jeff’s car to the school, and he is taking mine to the tire place. Except…my car won’t start. The air compressor has stripped it of any mojo it had left. Jeff yells and bangs his forehead on the steering wheel.

8:45. We use Jeff’s car to jump my car, and we are finally off.

If there is a lesson in all this, I’m not sure what it is. Perhaps if the universe is telling you to get back in bed, maybe you should listen. Or…don’t piss off the morning mojo gods…they are way more powerful than we are.

PS–The tire was defective, so we got a new one for free. BUT we got to buy a new car battery. Yay!!