In what feels like another life, my days were strategically planned around working the required eight hours, and then going home to tend to little humans in various stages of chaos. I understood the assignment. As long as they didn’t die of starvation or filicide, I was doing a good job. That was my parenting barometer — survival.
Now, with no tiny humans demanding juice or threatening chaos at every turn, I expected peace. What I got was… something else entirely.
This morning, I woke up, made coffee, and sat down. I didn’t have a single human to worry about but myself.
I would love to say I did that all in order, but it went more like this:
I got up and made my way to the bathroom. The first thing I noticed was the toilet paper roll was empty, so I changed it out. There wasn’t a garbage bag in the bin, so I went to get more from the kitchen. While I was there, I put water in a mug and placed it in the Keurig.
Then I grabbed a few garbage bags — I like to leave extras in the bottom to avoid mornings like this — and went back to the bathroom. As I was putting the bag in, I noticed the baseboards behind the trash bin were discolored compared to the ones in the corner.
Back to the kitchen I went for paper towels and surface cleaner.
At this point, my bladder was thoroughly confused. We’d been up for 20 minutes and hadn’t handled a single morning ritual. It only took two minutes to wipe the baseboards and stash some paper towels in the cabinet for next time.
I caught my reflection in the mirror. The morning Crypt Keeper is not a good look for anyone. Moisturizer was now priority #1.
Unfortunately, all of my face creams and potions are in my office — not in a logical place, like the bathroom. On the way to retrieve them, the dogs reminded me (loudly) that they too had bodily functions and expectations.
I hadn’t put away the surface cleaner, so I hooked it onto my bathrobe belt like some suburban Batman, and stepped outside with the dogs — who then decided to antagonize the neighbor’s dogs at full volume.
It was during this cacophony of canine chaos that I realized: I still hadn’t had any coffee.
Once the dogs were taken out and fed, I went back to the kitchen. The spray cleaner I thought I’d hooked to my belt was gone. I didn’t care enough to look for it. My mission now: coffee.
I have a “Wednesday” mug from the TV show that says “I’m not weird, everyone else is.” I couldn’t find it anywhere — not in the cupboard, sink, or among my usual abandoned drinking spots.
I resigned myself to using the lone, ugly mug from a bank that hasn’t existed in two decades. I could already feel it ruining my entire day. The mug you drink coffee from matters. The wrong one can set off a series of unfortunate events — or so my brain insists.
Luckily, I found the Wednesday mug right where I left it: sitting on the Keurig. I pressed the magical power button and walked away.
Three sneezes later, I went searching for allergy pills. It’s pollen season in North Carolina, which means my sinuses are at war with nature. The mom in me is hardwired to keep a stash of every over-the-counter medication imaginable — the Dollar Tree generic kind, of course, because I’m also hardwired to be cheap.
As I embarked on this new adventure, my phone alarm went off — a reminder to take my regular meds. Mid-search, I went to find my old lady pill case (seven compartments, one for each day, because who can remember anything anymore?).
Surprise win of the morning: there were already allergy pills in it.
Victory!
Now I just needed something to wash them down with. But someone had actually done dishes the day before, which meant all my scattered cups were mysteriously… gone. I attempted to dry-swallow the pills.
Cue twenty minutes of coughing, hacking, and trying not to sneeze too hard — because I’m a 45-year-old woman who’s birthed four kids, and the pelvic floor doesn’t play games anymore.
Back in the bathroom, I again caught my reflection. This time, I stood there poking the wrinkle in my forehead and trying to remember what I was supposed to bring back into the bathroom. I had no idea.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t important enough to chase. I headed to my office, still in a brain fog that refused to lift.
At 6:25 a.m., my son walked in with a steaming hot mug of coffee, paper towels, surface cleaner, face moisturizer, my phone, and my keys.
Unfortunately, it was too late. I had to go to work.
So when I say I’m exhausted before my day even starts?
This is why.