Tuesday, 7:00 am- It’s time to put my head down and write. It’s going to be great because it’s a vacation day for my husband and I have a quiet office in the corner of my room.
7:05- The dog comes in the room and steals my chair.
7:07- 8-year-old comes in the room and starts talking. He wants to know when we’re going to run today. He starts negotiating for an earlier time. I tell him we’ll go at 9:30.
He sets up camp on the bed in my room and starts chattering away. His older brother has joined him.
7:09- I decide the quietest place in the house is not the office in my room. I move to the 8-year-old’s room and sit on the floor. I’m surrounded by books, piles of clothes and an unmade bed. At least it’s quiet.
7:15- After writing for a few minutes, I decide I really want to write in my office. I head back to my office and inform the two children in there that the noisiest room of the house should not be mine. I kick them out. I also kick the dog out of my chair. Even my puggle doesn’t want me to have my Best Year Ever.
But first, before the kids leave, I need to parent. “Mom, can I watch TV?” The answer is, “No”.
7:16- My husband, Nathan, is snoring.
7:19- Back to writing. There are no kids in my room. Glory! It’s quiet.
7:21- The dog wants to be let back in the room.
7:25- The door opens a crack. My oldest peers through it and I return his gaze with one of irritation.
7:27- The dog wants to be let out.
7:28- Start thinking murderous thoughts toward Michael Hyatt and know, for certain, he doesn’t have three children and a dog that are disappointed to be kicked out of his office this morning.
7:30- Compose the outline of a blog post about the challenges of being a mom who tries to chase non-parenting goals.
7:37- Feel guilty because my first priority is to my family– you know, the ones I just kicked out of my room.
7:42- Marvel at how my husband doesn’t seem to worry about any of these things. The dog wants back in the room.
7:50- Realize it’s been quiet for 25 minutes. Notice that a note has been shoved under the door: “Can we go running at 8:30?”
I write my response on the paper and shove it back under the door.
7:55- I need to decide whether to laugh or to cry. There are two children sitting outside my door. Oh look. The note has been shoved back under the door to my side. There’s a new sentence added.
8:00- I need to make another parenting decision. Nathan comes in the room to tell me Isaac wants to run and 9:30 won’t work. When did Nathan get out of bed?
8:05- Decide to change the blog post to a timeline to illustrate the absurdity of my life.
8:09-Realize that if this week’s morning routine is going to work, I’m going to need to disappoint people and interrupt their morning routine. Am I willing to do that?
Yes. I think so.
8:15- Thank God for the privilege of having a family and a life that allow for problems like this.
8:16- All is quiet now because Nathan took the 8-year-old on a run. It’s something I wanted to do with him, but I had to let Nathan do it instead to make it work. I’ll have to run later by myself.
I snap some photos of the note the 8-year-old slid under the door and smile. I’m definitely going to use this. Notice I spelled “go” as “got” and that Isaac spelled Audrey’s name with a “b”. Consider not sharing that photo.
Share it anyway because people can relate to “real” more than perfect.
. . . 12 hours later, I sit on my bed and break the news to the 8-year-old: “Honey, I’m going to get up early tomorrow and I’m going to be working on some things in my room by myself until 9:00. You don’t get up until 7:00. You’ll be okay without me and I’m still available in case of an emergency.”
His eyes fill with tears.
“2 hours?” He does his best to convince me that this might be too much to ask. What if he needs a hug?
I task Ethan with giving him unlimited hugs.
“Oh, and no screen time, okay?”
Wednesday, 7:00 am- It’s time to put my head down and write. It’s going to be great. . .