Lately, mornings in our household have taken on an unsettling quality. Imagine waking up to the eerie presence of someone hovering just inches from your face—initially reminiscent of a ghost from a horror flick, but upon closer inspection, it’s just my middle child, a once-adorable and cuddly 9-year-old.
This “haunting” figure often emits groans of discontent, stomping about while lamenting the injustices of early mornings: “It’s still dark outside! The alarm is so cruel! Mornings are the worst!” Trust me, I can relate. Mornings can feel like a physical blow to the senses, and for the first fifteen minutes of the day, I resemble a sloth—not just any sloth, but one that’s had one too many energy drinks. That’s why I tackle essential morning tasks like packing lunches and laying out uniforms the night before, enabling a smoother start.
However, sharing my life with three kids means my plans don’t always go as intended. Recently, my formerly sweet daughter has been challenging my patience like never before. One morning last week, chaos erupted just seconds after I woke up. My youngest, blissfully unaware of an impromptu new rule about bathroom doorways, stood in the wrong place at the wrong time and received a swift kick from her older sister. I sat there, groggy and unable to intervene, as my youngest burst into tears, collapsing dramatically on the floor. Feeling trapped, I quietly exited the bathroom, closing the door behind me in a moment of defeat.
Naturally, the commotion escalated. My 9-year-old was now in full poltergeist mode. I attempted to remain silent and retreat, knowing I was ill-equipped to handle such a scene—especially before my morning coffee. But my daughter persisted, and after a moment, I unleashed my inner dragon, delivering a fiery lecture that would make any parent proud.
Both of us were furious. As I reached for my coffee, she grabbed my phone and began editing a photo of herself and her sisters, removing her own face and setting the altered image as my wallpaper. The message was crystal clear: my sweet girl had momentarily vanished, and I was now the mother of only two.
Later, after school, she requested my phone again. This time, she restored the original picture, and peace was momentarily restored as we chuckled over our earlier antics. But the next day, the haunting returned—only this time, it was directed at her dad.
In an attempt to combat these moods, we tried sending her to bed earlier, which yielded modest results, but rudeness persisted. Then, the breakthrough moment occurred. My daughter excitedly called me into her room, exclaiming, “Mom! Smell my armpit!” As I leaned in, I was met with a scent that could only be described as a mix of lamb kabob and onions, a revelation that left me both horrified and amused.
So today, I’ve decided to book a decade-long trip to Hawaii. Who’s in?
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In summary, navigating the tween years can feel like an uphill battle filled with unexpected challenges and humorous moments. Embracing the chaos and finding humor in the madness is essential for survival in this stage of parenting.