Most mornings, I wake up running.  I…

…drop my husband off at work since we only have one car now.

…drop my brother off at work because it’s cold in Omaha and I feel bad about him having to walk and wait for the city bus.

…get back home and accidentally fall asleep because…tired.

…wake Jam up because she’s also fallen back to sleep.

…wake Jam up.

…wake Jam up one more time before I threaten to lose my mind and ground her for eternity.

…help Jam get dressed for school.

…make her breakfast.

…make her eat her breakfast.

…get myself ready for work.

…contemplate calling in unbothered about having to pay my bills and instead spend the day in bed with Criminal Minds and The Mindy Project.

…give Jam her medicine and make her remind her to wash her face and brush her teeth.

…grab all my stuff for work, Jam’s backpack, and scoot her out the door then out of the car.

…watch her clumsily run to her portable because, “Dammit, we’re late!”

“Dammit, we’re late,”  is probably my most used phrase when it comes to paraphrasing our mornings.  I am a H.A.M. when it comes to most mornings and I blame motherhood.  But that’s another story for a different day.  On most mornings, I don’t get to eat breakfast (or I don’t prioritize my breakfast) and settle for microwave oatmeal packets at my desk.  The 3 pieces of fruit usually make it better though.  I put my headphones in, grab my planner, and get started with my day.  Yay for working motherhood…

…I kinda love it.

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