5:00 5:09 5:18 5:27 am.
I drag myself out of bed, let the dogs out and head down the hall. I slap the button on the coffee grinder and pour water in the machine. While my fix percolates, I think about making lunches. I get distracted by a phone bill and write a letter of complaint to my service provider. I turn on the news, listen for a few minutes and turn it off. There's a lot going on in the world today. I want to be insulated from it. I toss a load of laundry in the dryer and clean the litter box.
The coffee is ready. I pour a skoosh of milk in the bottom of the cup and then fill it to the top with steaming, brown, lovely coffee. Smell and then sip. Best part of my morning, that first taste of liquid motivation.
I log on, read email, blogs, Twitter and Facebook. Write a couple of comments, hope they communicated what I meant. Remember that I forgot lunches.
Second cup of coffee. Make sandwiches, pack juice boxes, applesauce and snacks. Gird my loins for the Waking of the Kids (similar to the annual Running of the Bulls, this event is a real adrenaline-fest). Some days the effort involved in rousting them from their beds is herculean. Occasionally God smiles upon me and they wake themselves up, smiling and happy, ready to face the day. More often than not, though, they resist until the bitter end.
Breakfast, getting dressed, brushing teeth, taking meds. Feeding dogs, feeding horses, dogs in crates, coats on, kids in car, off we go.
Routine.
Predictable, boring, as vital to my life as the caffeine that starts my day.
I know beyond a doubt the wild child of my twenties would not recognize the old fart I've become. Routine? Predictability? Evil words uttered by a walking tool of the Machine.
How did I get here? And even more importantly, when did I start to LIKE it?
Our routine, when we begin our day on a predictable schedule, helps us to do better. Most of the so-called experts agree that kids and adults with ADD do much better with routines. For that matter, most kids who don't have the kinds of issues my kids have do better with routines. For us, routines are the building block of the day. We all know what to expect: We will eventually get up, eventually get fed, and mom will be late to work again.
When we miss any of the tick marks on the schedule, it causes a slump that will fall into the toilet, dragging the rest of our day with it.
The dogs even know the routine. Right now, as I type this, it is time for them to eat. As if on cue, they surround my chair. Roscoe bumps my forearm with his nose, knocking my fingers off the keyboard. Hercules starts moaning at me. T Bone put his head on my lap and looks at me with soulful eyes.
Time to go. Interrupting the schedule is not allowed.
