Holiday morning routine

It’s 11am. I’m on my knees. Another morning routine accomplished. Those are hard on the knees but at the same time so rewarding. During this holiday period, this goes typicaly like this:

• 6.30am: things start moving. Usually it’s the youngest that I hear first. Some high-pitched tone to signal that he is well awake and doing his best to either grab my wife’s handphone while she is doing yoga, or loudly requesting to be hugged while he is waking up.
• 7.15am: trying to move out of bed. The alarm goes off and I usually discover the oldest bundled at my feet or lying in the sofa, asking for a bottle of milk.
• 7.30am: acceleration. It’s toilet time. One hurries up to go to the loo, while the other is running around with an extremely smelly diaper which necessitates urgent care.
• 7.40am: starting breakfast preparation. Apple, toasts, banana. I try to gulp something down before we go into full-strength operation.
• 7.55am: doing my best to force pants on little butts before they rush outside to say bye to their mom leaving for the office. Shoes are a nice to have, but the kids are usually already covered in dirt before I even get a chance to cross the threshold behind them.
• 8.15am: navigating on the road between a 4-wheeled bike rushing downslope between scooters and cars and a wiggling 1-year-old trying to climb on every stairs and portals he can find.
• 8.45am: usually by this time, the youngest is covered with dirt, soil stuck between the toes, wet cray on the corner of his mouth. The kids have either engaged into some improvised shower in the garden to fight the scorching heat or just plain muddy puddle jumping. The looks of the passers-by signal that it’s time to go home.
• 9am: I take off the shirt. It’s all sweaty and wet from the wild splashing. The youngest has escaped from the bath and peed on the floor. Trying to contain the damage.
• 9.10am: I remember that I forgot to take mummy’s milk out of the fridge. It’s all frozen but the drinker is insisting he wants it now. I lure him with a banana. The kids sit down at the table and get busy with breakfast.
• 9.15am: starting a 7-minute workout. If all goes well, I finish it in 7 minutes. Otherwise, I pause to cover toilet emergencies, spilled cups, or one of the impromptu existential crisis of the oldest.
• 9.25am: I sit down, yeah. Turn on the radio, eat proper breakfast. The 1-year-old has banana in his hair and laughing his butt off with his sister.
• 9.40am: time for cleanup. There’s no escaping the fact that I need to wash the kids again. Running again after bare-butt kids.
• 9.50am: the kids are busy. Some serious drawing going on. The youngest silently steals the pens and tries to bite the tip off. He’s covered with colored dots.
• 10am: time for fight. My daughter is pissed off because her brother has teared her drawing apart. She screams and kick. They both want to be hugged at the same time.
• 10.15am: my mother-in-law comes to the rescue. I try to do the beds, but I’ve got to do it with the additional weight of a jumping toddler on the bed.
• 10.30am: quiet seems to finally be back. The youngest is on the verge of sleeping and the oldest has found some quiet activities to forget her tears. I get to shower.
• 10.45am: I’m dead tired. I hand over the iPad to my daughter to buy myself one hour of quiet time. If the fridge is empty, I have to start the mid-day routine. Otherwise, I get to choose to either take a nap, play ukulele, or some other low-power activity.

That’s pretty much how it goes. It might sound over-dramatic but it paints the right picture. Not being a morning person, I reckon it to be quite challenging to be in the right mood to handle the routine right. I might swear silently during this and clench my teeth hard sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade this time with the kids for anything else. No better way to feel alive and kicking. Well, a break might feel nice too sometimes…