How We Got Our Mornings Back

After He Said Cancer | A Memoir

“We are late!” she cried, racing into the living room. “Dad, we need to leave now!”

With the surprised look of a seasoned actor, my husband looked up slowly from his book. He had been sitting in an armchair absorbed in a memoir. The look on his face was expressionless, as if he needed a moment to process the information.

“Oh, I’m not ready to drive you,” he said calmly. “You see, I need a five-minute warning so that I can get ready. I will be ready in about five minutes.” Then, he stood up and slowly stretched his arms up to the ceiling. The moment’s panic was clearly not affecting him. In fact, just the opposite. He seemed cooler and calmer than ever.

“DAAAAAAADDDDDDD!” she cried louder and then raced to her room, presumably to find something that she needed for school.

He looked at me and nodded his head in silence. The plan is working, he was thinking. He had turned the tables on them and now they were scrambling and stressed.

We had been plotting this moment for a month, ever since my husband attended a parenting lecture by the author of a book called The Self-Driven Child. He enjoyed reading non-fiction, promptly ordered the book, and devoured it. Our evening walks had been filled with conversations about the book’s insights into child psychology and what we could do better as parents.

We need to take a different approach to the morning routine, he told me on more than one occasion. I quickly agreed. The girls were often late for school and the morning rush left me stressed and frustrated.

“Do you have everything you need? Did you brush your teeth?” I would shout. Half the time they could hardly hear me. And even if they did hear me, they wouldn’t always answer. They just kept reading their Captain Underpants series – which I hated – while munching on Cocoa Puffs – which I also hated. Then, a last-minute race would ensue to find matching socks or something else, which I invariably got sucked into.

We tried almost everything. Nagging didn’t produce results. Then, we tried giving a verbal two-minute warning. That didn’t work, so we started ringing a small bell to indicate the same two-minute warning. Finally, we felt that they couldn’t hear the bell or our voice, and so we tried striking a small gong that reverberated throughout the house.

Our efforts were to no avail. Nags, bells, gongs. All an utter failure. I was tired. My husband was tired. And they were still arriving just before the start of school or a little late.

It was time for the girls to figure this out themselves, he said. This is what the book said to do. The more that we reminded them, nagged them, and tried to help them – the less responsibility that they would take themselves. Our job was to raise adults. And part of this job was helping them less.

They need to fail when the stakes are low, he repeated on our evening walks when I protested that they needed help. Let them feel the consequences of their actions. Trust me, they will figure it out.

We raised the issue of a new morning routine in a family meeting. The current morning routine wasn’t working, we said. The family would be trying a new approach. In this new plan, the girls would inform us when it was time to leave for school. And they needed to give us a 5-minute warning so that one of us (usually my husband) was ready to drive.

They happily agreed to take on the responsibility of leaving on time for school.

Could they tell time, we checked. Yes! they answered enthusiastically. Did they know what time we needed to leave for school, we asked. Yes, yes, they said. We checked that they could find the time displayed on the kitchen microwave. And then they ran off to enjoy their toys.

My husband and I looked at each other and smiled.

The next morning began as usual with the girls absorbed in their graphic novels at the breakfast table and eating Cocoa Puffs. Not a care in the world. The time was 7:35 A.M.

They would certainly be late if they didn’t start to kick it into gear. A mild panic was beginning in my chest, and I walked into the living room where I knew my husband would be sitting. Calmly.

“I know,” he said looking up from his book and guessing from my expression what I wanted to say. “Oh well,” he murmured, and began reading again.

I sat down on the couch to wait. A few minutes passed and all was quiet in the house. Not a sound was heard, except the dog breathing loudly at my husband’s feet.

It wouldn’t be good for them to be late, I thought. Especially, if it became a daily thing. They would surely be late now and late tomorrow and the next day. I was starting to regret that I had gone along with plan. I looked down at my clasped hands and began fidgeting with my thumbs.

It was 7:43 A.M. and I couldn’t take it anymore. Now they only had two minutes before we needed to leave. I stood up to find them and give a warning, but he stopped me with one finger raised in the air. He put the finger to his lips, and I sat down again. He went back to reading his book.

Time ticked away. Every now and then, he looked at me and put a finger back to his lips. Ten minutes passed, then 20 minutes. I started to feel more relaxed and enjoyed a moment of calm meditation.

Northern Flicker

To pass the time, I had started looking out the windows onto the backyard. A large bird – a Northern Flicker – was hopping around the lawn looking for insects. It was one of the larger and more recognizable birds that came into our backyard. Watching it hop around to find food was entertaining. I felt my mind slowing down and a peace come over me. Whether or not the girls were on time for school was beginning to feel unimportant.

Suddenly, our oldest daughter came screaming around the corner. It was 8:10 A.M. They would be very late today.

Oh, well.

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