Tales from the Crib
Name: Rebecca Christman
Kids: stepdaughter, age 5; daughter, age 16 months
Works: editor of metro
parent magazine, family peacekeeper
Favorite part of being a mom: Spending time laughing and playing with my kids instead of doing housework
Least favorite part about being a mom: The growing pile of unfinished novels on my nightstand
Little known fact: As a perilous thrill-seeker and licensed skydiver, Rebecca previously though she had career potential as a jumpmaster.
Read "Tales from the Crib" and other parenting columns each month in metroparent in print or online at MilwaukeeMoms.com.
The break in morning madness
By Rebecca Christman
Monday, Mar 23 2009, 02:06 PM
Like most households with kids, our mornings are rushed disasters. We have to get Mia to school (7:30), Anika to daycare (8) and I pray to get to work on time (8:30).
It might sound easy if you don't have to battle the 20-minute time warp between our front door and the car.
Mia has the hardest time getting moving in the morning. Trying to instill her sense of independence, we’ve made her responsible for her own morning routine by getting ready the night before.
Last night, like every night, Mia and I decided on a school uniform together, then she made sure her hairbrush and toothbrush were in the proper places. (Don’t ask me how you can lose a toothbrush, because neither Mia nor I can answer that question, but it happens often enough.) After that, we accounted for everything she’ll need to get out the door: shoes, backpack and jacket.
By morning, the hairbrush was misplaced and one shoe went missing. Mia said someone stole them. The clock was ticking, Anika was pulling off her clothes, and I started to get tense and began my usual rant about lateness.
Mia took something out of her backpack and said, “I just want you to look at something.”
I sharply replied, ”I’ll be glad to look at it tonight. Right now, we have to find your shoe and get to school!”
“Pleeeease, just look at it,” she whined.
I reluctantly looked at the worksheet that read, “Today I wish …”
Mia drew a bunch of kids holding hands and filled in the sentence to read, “Today I wish … I could love everybody in the world.”
I paused. I’m yelling at a kid who can’t find her shoe on most days, but has the biggest heart. I paused, put down my purse and gave her a hug.
We were late to school, daycare and work that morning, but as we slowly walked to school, we talked about all the ways we could try to love everybody in the world.
