The Witching Hour

Early mornings have a beautiful quality of calm in our house. Before we get up and moving, the girls come in and we have a family cuddle. Everybody is warm and sleepy and entangled in each other. I breathe in the smell of their heads and think about what a Golden Moment this is. I love them with all my heart. I love them so much, it hurts.

Then we start getting ready for school. It’s not as bad as it used to be; there is a checklist, and they move through pretty quickly. (This would be because I leave at 8:00 in the morning, whether they are ready or not. They run down the street, backpacks swaying, sobbing “Mommy – WAIT!” Very mean. Very effective.)

THEN, there is the 3 p.m. pick-up. A little discussion about the day, what color heels the first grade teacher was wearing, playground activities etc. Then we begin the afternoon witching hour.

You know the hour:
The 10-year old has to tell me she forgot to take her comprehension test, coupled with red face, head thrown down on desk and wailing.
Do your Home work!
Practice the Piano!
OMG - have you washed your hands in the last week? (Ewww)
Reading!
Soccer gear! I don't know where your shin guards are. They aren't my shin guards to keep track off.
No don't put ON your jazz shoes, just FIND your jazz shoes.
Why does it have to take 45 minutes to take a shower? You are very tiny. Hurry Up!

It is the worst part of my day. The day when those beautiful little morning cuddle bugs come home. I call it the witching hour. When Mommy becomes a . . . witch.