Selectively Juggling

Tell us about your morning routine.

I don’t just need to be awake, but up and hitting the ground running by 7am. Good morning cortisol! Being a parent to a daughter with a rare disorder and disability means making sure that she’s up, has her epilepsy and benign brain tumour medications. Almost as important is ensuring she gets her beloved morning coffee – a long black without sugar. Obviously she has discerning tastes. She’s not a big breakfast person, so I morph into a drill sergeant “eat your breakfast, now!”. I don’t bark orders at her for fun, it’s crucial she eats something to cushion her stomach from the onslaught of her medication. There is stress and worry over her breakfast routine.

Depending on which side of the bed she gets up from (figuratively speaking) determines if I’m going to get my angelic sweet daughter, or the complete other end of the spectrum. She’ll either be bright and chirpy if shes slept well, or conversly like a wailing banjee with tears dripping in some weird vocal fry, if shes not slept well. Given that she is an external thought processor I need to endure her morning range of thoughts and emotions. She can start with “I’m not going today, I feel sick (my chest, my throat, my stomach, my hair hurts etc) She’s like a contagious mealstrom of emotion – I’m swept up and find myself engaging in what I’d class as world level negiotations. Instead of facing a potential table of hostile stakeholders, I’m facing the angelic face – blue eyes and blonde hair of a girl with moderate intellectual disability – but with superb arguing skills. She is a force to be reckoned with. She’s spirited! And I love it, as I know being spirited and assertive is a protective measure, hopefully reducing her risk of being harmed.

Meanwhile I just want to slip into some liminal space and enjoy my almond milk coffee, and my lovingly home-made gluten free caraway seeded bread. I am present in the room, yet part of me dissociates and dips below the surface, or gets lost in thoughts about “I need to get to work!” “I need to water my plants, pack the dishwasher, make sure the boys are up, do the shopping, washing, what’s for dinner?” “I need some time away” “Wow what glorious weather”

I remember to breathe and ground myself, my daughter smiles and delights in trying to win me over as I ask my husband if he could drop her off this morning. My daughter looks at me “I’d prefer to go with a lovely lady – you” and she tries to come in for a hug. Meanwhile my ears are attuned to my son’s bedroom door. He has a cold, and is immunocompromised – I am worried about it worsening. My thoughts aren’t anxiety based, but grounded in reality. I check on him, while corralling my daughter to go get dressed. My morning routine is all about selectively juggling competing demands and needs.

Oh the fun and games never stop. At least she is happy and resigned to the fact that she is going – I hold my reserve a little longer “off your iPad, put your phone down and get dressed!, you’ve only got 10 minutes to be out the door and in the car”. I continue making lunches, cutting some celery, carrots and capsicum (for her) – spoon out lashings of rich velvety hummus. I make some for myself, but omit capsicum as it is by very definition my evil nemesis. I dislike cutting it, let alone having its juices fly up and whack me in the eyes. I admire the colour and crispness of the cut veggies – I come back from the edge of my thoughts and realise “Where is her bag? It’s got her wallet in it?” She is too busy arranging her beloved headphones – she’s not listening, instead I run out and search my car for it. It’s not there! Oh well, she’ll just have to take her other one.

She’s happy. She leaves, my husband now roped into the morning circus. At least he’s working remotely today. Off they go, stopping at Coles (grocery store) for a Health Lab protein bar, the local cafe for a takeaway coffee and the ATM for money for today’s program activities (Archery at Olympic Park – how much fun) Normally, I’m better organised and will make sure to have the necessary cash and other things. But sometimes life happens and I don’t have everything as it should – I am human after all.

Meanwhile my coffee sits forgotten and cold. It’ll wait.

My routine would normally be, drop her off by 8:45am and then head into work. Today however, given that my husband dropped her off I will remake my coffee, water my plants and watch as the morning sunshine and hanging sun crystals create magical spectrums of colour. I reset and centre. I self regulate after being swept up in a short burst of morning chaos. My cortisol drops – I seek out serotonin, dopamine and oxytocin. I manage a 5 minute barefoot bask in the backyard sunshine. I sip my coffee, gaze lovingly into the flowering trees. I listen to bird song and simply breathe. I reset!.

I’ve noticed that I need to wake up before everyone else, take time to create some morning quiet – basking in the beauty of my plants, the morning light and the tastes and smells of coffee and my home made bread. A morning shower in silence. I need to set the pace and tone for the household. I usually don’t need my alarm, waking before it goes off. Unlike my husband who intimately knows his snooze buttons first time – I am awake once I open my eyes. I am grateful I left my job in the city and no longer need to commute early – it was a game changer. Now I work locally and around my responsibilities, and daughter’s needs.

My routine revolves around my daughter’s needs. My routine isn’t just about me, but getting through a little chaos – of some heightened or less regulated behaviours. My routine is about making sure my sanity remains in tact and that I have the cognitive, mental, emotional and physical reserves available to power through the day.