Maybe you’ve seen me? I’m the guy with the scowl most mornings as I drive my girls to school. It’s not the heavy morning traffic on Western Avenue that has me uptight. It’s my two girls.

I know I should accept that my 6-year-old butterfly girl moves like molasses in the morning and politely refuses to eat whatever we put in front of her, and that my 9-year-old debater would rather read a book than brush her teeth. But I can’t.

I’m the morning trigger guy in our house because my wife is out the door fairly early to get to work on the other side of the river. It’s my job to make sure our girls get dressed, brush their teeth, eat a well-balanced breakfast, have a packed lunch in their backpack and get to school on time.

I get them up at 6:45, with the idea that we need to be pulling out of the driveway at 7:40. Theoretically, it should work this way: 25 minutes to use the potty, wash their hands, brush their teeth, get dressed and have mom do their hair. That would get them downstairs for breakfast by 7:10, which would give them about 20 minutes to eat and 10 minutes to get bundled up and out the door.

Instead, we’re routinely hitting the road 5 to 10 minutes late. Most mornings, I feel like one of the Duke brothers trying to sell orange juice futures on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange.

Part of my brain knows there’s no such thing as a perfect morning, but the other part won’t let it go: why can’t every morning be a perfect morning?

(Photo / Pixabay)

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