Rather rub salt in your eyes than open the curtains? Sounds like your morning needs a routine to battle that reticence. Don’t worry as it’s Luchadora Litigator to the rescue!
First rule: Make your mornings easier by starting them the night before. Get those sandwiches prepped. Get the kids’ clothes picked and agreed upon, so (in theory) there are no arguments. Lay everything out. Your morning self will thank you.
RED ALERT, RED ALERT! Okay so instead of prepping, you spent last night with a glass of red wine in hand and watching I’m a Celebrity (or catching up on the pro wrestling, whatever floats your boat). Okay, deep breath. Your morning will be more shit than usual, but you can skip to the next steps even if you haven’t done any prep, but you might want to get up about 30 minutes earlier, or be prepared to be that much later.
Second rule: Have a routine and stick to it. Yes, some days the toddler has been up all night and you can’t find the paracetamol. The routine will go out the window. But even then, having a default to fall back on is what separates victory from defeat.
My routine won’t be yours. My early morning gym visits are what feels like two small, gremlin-like lifetimes ago. But here’s how this Luchadora Litigator combats the inertia. Take what works, build your routine, and then do it. No excuses.
- Do not hit that snooze button. No ifs, ands, or buts. Alarm goes off, you turn it off.
- Plant those feet on the floor. It’s the best way to avoid the snooze. Like the guy in Diehard (niche, stick with me), you want to feel the carpet between your toes. Get grounded.
- Stand up. Don’t just snooze sitting on the edge of the bed. On your feet.
- Turn on a light or open the curtains. In the UK from September to March, opening the curtains does jack squat. So get a light on. Yes, it feels like you’re being interrogated, but it works. If that’s too much, get a cheap bedside lamp with a slightly warmer more manageable bulb hue.
- Get YOURSELF ready first. This is the golden rule, especially as a mother of two (three if you include the husband, five if you include the cats). It’s the oxygen mask rule: fix your own mask before assisting others. There is no point running around after little ones if your boobs are hanging out of your pyjama top and you’ve only applied mascara to one eye. Take the 10 minutes to get yourself ship-shape before attacking the problem of sorting others. Ideally you’ll also get in that cup of tea or coffee in that time before you risk having it spilled down you by grabby hands, or instead you might squeeze in that soothing shower without a face pressed up against the glass. You’ll feel more human. If you’re unlucky enough to have sound triggered demons in the space that your children usually take up, attempt to deploy your best ninja emulating stealth techniques (avoiding that booby trapped squeaky floorboard).
- (Optional) Prepare the Others. If you’re blessed with others in your household (partner, child, pet), you have to get them ready or at least out of your way. I tackle them with their own routine.
- Kids: Strip covers. Get them out of bed (yes, this may involve kicking and screaming). Night clothes off, day clothes that are neatly laid out are put onto wriggling bodies (thanks, evening me!). With a toddler, this is an Olympic Greco-Roman wrestling match where the gold medal is clothes on the right way around. Teeth cleaned. Hair brushed. Cajole everyone downstairs.
- Partner: “Get out of the f***ing bed, I’m not your f***ing mother, you’re a grown-a** adult.” Repeat until ready. (My mornings are filled with such loving, soothing words). If you’re flying solo, vent this stress at your pets (“I’m not your f***ing food vending machine, just give me a second!”) and skip to step 7.
- Breakfast. Maybe evening-you prepped overnight oats. Or maybe you’re a toast person. Either way, get your breakfast going before anyone else. Then, get the
snot goblins’dearest darlings’ food ready. Ideally, everyone is at the table. Not for some idyllic postcard image, but so you are at eye-level to monitor food intake. If you’ve not managed to get your tea in as part of your own process of getting ready (see step 5), do it now, but be limber and ready for flailing limbs and / or food. - (Optional) The Pets. We have two cats who, in the morning, have laser focus on food. I do all cat tasks at once: litter, water check, then food. This separates kids and cats, leading to less yowling (from the kids). My advice: get into a habit of your food, kids’ food, pet food. It avoids the 7.30am running out of the door conversation of “Shit, did you feed the cats?” “No, did you?” “F***!”
- Prepare the Bags. Gather all the detritus life requires by the door. Work bags, lunchboxes, PE bags, water bottles, welly boots for the off chance the school uses that patch of dirt whizzily called “the Science Garden.” Pile that mountain by the door so you can’t forget it (again you have been saintly and have done this the night before).
- Deploy Coats and Shoes. Get your stuff on, then have the shoe battle with the gremlins. It’s the shoe hokey cokey with one shoe on when you realise the other one is off again. Get everyone lined up for a head count (“Where’s the little one?” “He’s playing with the toilet roll!” “Sh**, grab him!”) and final inventory (“Child 1, where are your pants?” True story, I accidentally once sent my eldest to school without any).
- To the Ships! (Or car). If you are smugly child-free, select your soundtrack and deploy the heated steering wheel. If you are with mini-demons, take a deep breath and enter combat mode to restrain them in their child seats. (Toddlers grow octopus limbs for this). Once restrained, face the onslaught of questions (“Mum, why is that house breathing?” “Dad, why do people die?”) or requests (“No, I’m not listening to ‘Let It Go’ for the 50th time.” “Well, you’ll have to hold it, you’re not weeing in the car!”). The main thing is: you are out of the house.
Congratulations. You’ve navigated the morning. Now only… [counts on fingers] …18,000 odd days left until the sweet embrace of death (obviously I’m joking).
Seriously, mornings are hard. The more you can put on autopilot, the easier it is to handle the real left-field issues: cat vomit, leaked nappies, frosted car windows, and missing phones.
Quick Takedown Checklist
- No snoozing
- Feet on the floor
- Get your butt up
- Let in the light
- Get YOURSELF ready first
- (Optional) Get others ready
- Your breakfast, then theirs
- (Optional) Feed the pets
- Bags by the door
- Coats and shoes
- Leave the house
Luchadora Litigator 
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