Devil works extra hard at our house on Sunday morning.

I don’t know what it is about Sunday morning but it makes my entire house turn on the stupid. We’ve left the house before, we should know how to do it.

Let’s start with the obvious person to cause problems, me. If we’re being totally honest, Mommy’s mood runs our family. So if Mommy isn’t on her game, it’s all down hill. I’m not sure what happens to my body Sunday mornings but it’s the best sleep I have ever had. Like, ever. My bed gets extra cozy, the room stays cool and dark, and the kids don’t bug me. They stay out, they do their own thing, they stay quiet ON SUNDAY MORNINGS!!! To say it takes a bulldozer to get me out of bed on Sunday morning is only a slight exaggeration.

Monday to Friday, we’re all up and out of the house by 7:15 no problem. Maybe it’s because I don’t put any effort into my appearance. That mom that stays in her car during school drop off because she’s bra-less, in glasses and pajamas, who most likely can’t form a comprehensible sentence… that’s me. That’s me so hard! I’ll be the first to admit not only am I a member of the hot mess mom club, I’m president. I get praise from other parents for having my kid’s lunch packed, clothes clean, and backpack loaded and sitting by the door the night before. It’s not because I have my life together, it’s because I need to be awake and stare at the wall for a good two hours before my brain starts firing the limited amount of neurons I have left after having these kids.

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To further my point, I just shouted to The Man with the Plan in the other room asking if the brain fires neutrons or neurons. Before children, or BC, I used to know such things. I think the lack of sleep is starting to get to me.

Saturdays are rough but manageable. We’ve got basketball for the Girl and soccer for the Boy. Quick side bar, 3 and 4 year old soccer is more entertaining than any professional game I’ve attended.

Anyway, Saturday mornings aren’t our shining moment either. It’s normally a put your shoes on in the car on the way type of morning. My appearance isn’t school drop off level of ugly but there’s room for improvement. My contacts are in but only because I refuse to be without my sunnies, which is what my house calls sunglasses. Last week, I poured my green tea into a clear cup and another mom joked that it looked like beer. I mean, I do have some standards lady, like I have pants and a bra on. I’m doing the best I can here lady!! I have enough time to grab my caffeine (in what appears to be a beer glass) and the mom bag before I run out the door, dragging kids behind me.  My bag is full of snacks, shin guards, snacks, water bottles, sunblock, snacks, bug spray, and of course more snacks because as any kid on a team sport will tell you, it’s all about the end-of-game snacks.

On that distraction, can we talk about the end of game snacks for a minute?? Some of you snack moms need to slow your roll a bit. I’m not against healthy. In fact, our snack week always included some type of fruit or veggie depending on the time of game. Apples, those cute tiny oranges, maybe some grapes… in the bag. Not those, look I cut the fruit in the shape of the fruit so it’s perfect and Pintrest will love it. My disapproval of this comes from a place of love. And slight jealousy that I don’t have the skill or care level that the good snack mom does. Someone has to keep the bar low.

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You’re welcome.

I also like to bring a completely sugar, preservatives, and red number 5 filled snack. Partly for nostalgia of when I was a kid and played. Remember when our snacks were store bought cookies?? But partly because I think it has to be fun! Like, good job running around for a whole hour, burning more calories than I do in a week, here’s an apple. That’s just rude. I’m surprised I don’t get an apple to the face. My husband prefers the Hostess or Little Debbie type things, I think it’s so he can have one too. You know, for the kids. We like to be supportive parents.

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Right, back to it. Sunday mornings.

My kids can’t seem to do anything on Sunday morning either. They forget where their shoes are. As soon as someone says the words, “TIME TO LEAVE” they suddenly are starving, forgetting that they’ve refused food multiple times that morning. I swear, grabbing my car keys on Sunday morning strikes an insatiable hunger in these kids. Pavlov didn’t need bells and a dog, he needed kids and a deadline. They might not have exact scientific proof but kids have the most perfect sense of bad timing any parent has ever seen.

Dream Sunday timeline:

8:00- wake up
8:15- eat first breakfast while Mom showers
8:30- get completely dressed
8:45- second breakfast or snack
9:00- brush teeth
9:15- walk out door
9:30- Church starts

Reality timeline

8:00- think about waking up
8:10- actually get up
8:15- refuse breakfast, it’s gross and doesn’t look right even though it’s the same type of cereal as always
8:25- barge into Mom’s bathroom asking her to find your favorite shoes that haven’t fit in two years and are gone.
8:45- finish having meltdown from losing the best shoes that have ever existed and will never be able to be replaced.
9:00- get dressed in dirty play clothes
9:02- begin new meltdown because Mom is being unreasonable and making you wear clean clothes.
9:05- refuse food
9:07- ask Mom to find your toothbrush that is in the toothbrush holder where it always is
9:08- refuse food
9:10- ignore Mom’s five minute warning. You’re busy looking for the puzzle piece you lost three years ago.
9:12- refuse food
9:13- start getting dressed
9:15- get sudden hunger pains
9:20- beg Mom for breakfast
9:22- look for shoes
9:23- have sudden urge to use the bathroom
9:28- think this might be the time Mom actually loses her mind and not just threatens.
9:30- Church starts
9:32- leave for church

It’s not an exact timeline, but it’s always some variation of the above. I’m not sure it will never change but I won’t stop trying. One day, we will get to church on time.

It’ll be the daylight savings Sunday but it will still count!

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