So many mornings, I feel defeated by 8:00. No, make that 8:07. The time distinction matters greatly, because school starts at 8:00. If I had gotten my children to school by 8:00, instead of 8:07, perhaps I might not have felt like such a mom failure. But probably not, because already by 8:07, I have rushed through my morning, yelled obnoxiously in the direction of my children, realized one son didn’t brush his teeth and another didn’t finish his homework, and drove my disheveled crew to school in a minivan – the backseat of which looks like it provides a home for a family of wild animals who store half-eaten suckers in cupholders, sleep on beds of crumbled-up candy wrappers and dirty Kleenexes, and gnaw on caps of markers that have long since dried up.
The discouraging defeat is not just from being late and feeling like a hot mess, though. My sense of defeat stems from how I expected the morning to go.