Obstacles

So, "THE PLAN" is that I wake up at 7:30, I read, I pray, I write, and when Jason wakes up around 8:15-8:30ish, as he has been for the last week, I read with him, and we start our day together.

The problem with THE PLAN, however, is that Jason doesn't seem to be aware of it, or if he is, he doesn't seem to care about it. Scratch that. Based on his behavior today, its like he IS aware of it, and his sole purpose for the day is to foil it.

It started with him waking up at 6:30. After a drink and a diaper change and breaking my own rule and letting him take two of his hotwheels into his crib with him, he fell back asleep, which allowed me to do the same. But then guess who woke up at 7:30? Both of us. Which means I had no time to myself this morning. So the chore of consoling him (he's been in a mood all morning) took up 15 minutes, my reading was constantly interrupted by a series of alternating phrases ranging from the remarkably clear words "Hey Mommy, watch this" to incoherent whines of frustration accompanied by some sort of hitting. And reading to him? Well, lets just say I sat on my bed while he lay on the floor. He did quiet down 2 verses into it, (we only read 7 verses) but I decided that an uncooperative toddler is an obstacle I can't avoid. The self imposed ideal of perfection, however, is an obstacle I can do without. So it wasn't the ideal setting. But hey, we're going for routines right? Trying to build habits? Not that I like the idea of settling for mediocrity, but in this case, "we'll take what we can get" implies that we're getting at least something done, and that is lofty enough for my goals.

After a breakfast that involved 25 painstaking minutes of coaxing, only to result in 25 cheerios being consumed, (during which time I also got some more laundry and dishes done), I told him he could get down and decided I would get my daily writing done before we head off to the gym.

I had an idea for a poem, or at least a few couplets. Something about time rolling on, my anxieties over not being ready for this next kid, not being able to stop my first kid from growing up so quickly, etc. But ever since I walked upstairs to my computer, Jason has been lying on the first step, throwing a tantrum. THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES, ladies and gentlemen. He's been at it, like this, for 35 excruciating minutes. He has a myriad of toys just 10 feet away, I offered to let him help me put laundry away or come play with toys up in the loft while I type. But no. Because mommy won't let him watch a movie (we're going to the gym in 5 minutes, and I don't want him watching too much TV), he has chosen to spend the last 35 minutes lying prostrate on the bottom step, crying his crocodile tears and kicking madly about. So instead of metamorphosing my thoughts into some lovely piece of rhyme and rhythm, all I could think about is how difficult having your own goals can be as a mother.

But hey, I wrote about those obstacles, and the goal was to write something, anything, right? Mission accomplished, I guess.