Mourning the old morning routine

Posted Aug 26, 2009 by Mike Winter

Updated Aug 26, 2009 at 12:51 PM

  I’m a creature of habit. I admit it. I like my routines. I find them comforting. Even if I wasn’t forced to get up at the same time every day I still would, albeit four to six hours later than when I’m now required to unfurl my sails. Until last week my mornings ran with a near military precision. This is the way things used to be:

  4:30 a.m. The alarm goes off. I don’t have to get up this early, but my wife does. Ironically, she’s a much sounder sleeper than I am, which means I’m the one who has to drag himself out of bed and slap at the buttons until quiet is restored.

  4:31 a.m. to 4:31:30 a.m. I repeatedly poke my wife’s shoulder until I’m positive she’s up. This confirmation is usually dependent upon either her slapping my hand away or groggily demanding to know what my problem is. Or both.

  4:31:30 a.m. to 6:30 a.m. I fall back to sleep until my wife, now dressed and ready for work, kisses me goodbye and obtains a promise that I’m alert and about to start getting our daughter ready for school.

  6:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. I fall back to sleep.

  7:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m.  I run around in a dazed panic trying to simultaneously shave, dress my daughter, microwave a bowl of instant oatmeal and iron a shirt while the cats snake around my ankles demanding breakfast and the piece of bread I forgot in the toaster sets off the smoke detector.
 
  9:00 a.m.  We arrive at school with uncombed hair and mismatched socks, (no one looks at my socks anyway), on time and ready for another glorious school/work day.

  As I said, a morning filled with military exactitude.

  Now, however, I have to deal with a new schedule and it’s thrown my finely honed routine completely out of whack. Instead of panicking at a sensible hour, I have to squeeze my discombobulation in 90 minutes earlier. Instead of having to circle back to the house to retrieve a forgotten naptime companion, I have to circle back to retrieve a forgotten homework assignment. And instead of using our drive time to reiterating that juice boxes are for drinking and not for squirting at “mean boys,” I have to… Well, actually, that’s stayed pretty much the same, but it only serves to highlight how much the rest of our morning has changed.

  All because my daughter has made the transition from preschool to elementary school. I thought I was prepared for this. I knew the first day of kindergarten was a momentous event for both parents and pupil. I clearly remember my first day. My mother walked me into the classroom. The teacher introduced herself and I took a seat along the wall while the other students road ponies around a dinosaur that breathed confetti through a flaming hoop.

  Ok. Maybe I don’t remember my first day as clearly as I thought. But I’m pretty sure there was a teacher and a chair. Also a wall. The point is, I thought I was ready for a big change. My daughter certainly was. She was up at 3 a.m., asking if it was time to go to school yet.  Ah, the exuberance of youth.

  And for the most part, I was ready. There were no “big” surprises. But it’s the little, unexpected glitches that can throw a monkey wrench in your best laid schemes. Having to take a different route to school, for instance. Sure, I knew how to get to her new campus. I’d made a few dry runs to make sure there would be no wrong turns on the big day. But I hadn’t driven the route at 7:15 in the morning. This proved to be a tactical error. My daughter’s old preschool was a straight shot south from our house. Her new school requires an east turn halfway there. As soon as I made the left, I found myself staring into the retina searing rays of the rising sun.

  “It’s so bright!” My daughter covered her face with her hands. I fumbled the visor down, groped for a pair of sunglasses on the seat next to me and swerved to avoid a bus pulled to the side of the road. At least I think it was a bus. It was hard to tell, what with the blinding glare and obscuring smoke of my smoldering corneas. I made a mental note to replace the windshield with glass from a welder’s mask and soldiered on.

  We made it to school without further incident, but just when I thought the worst was behind us I discovered how difficult it is to keep a car from drifting forward when you’re turned 90 degrees attempting to unbuckle a car seat safety belt so your kid can slide out the door at the drop off point and avoid delaying the fifty other parents waiting behind you, all of whom have dropped off their kids countless times before and know better than to attempt such a lumbar-twisting maneuver without first putting the car in park. Happily, the “love tap” I gave the SUV in front of me did no damage and the father driving it (six-foot-four and full of muscles, just like that old Men At Work song), was in a forgiving mood. But it was just one more kink in what used to be a well-oiled routine.

  I’m sure things will get better. It’s only week two, after all. A few more days, and I’ll be a pro at this. And then it’ll be my turn to get bumped by a frazzled father in the car behind me. I plan on being very forgiving. After all, if he’s anything like me he’ll be twenty minutes away from discovering a school backpack left forgotten on the rear floorboard. On days like that you need all the understanding you can get.