JOURNAL WRITING
Dear Diary,
TOPIC:
I want to tell you about my morning routine...
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#masterofmyCEO
The phone alarm goes off at 6:16am; I meant to set it for 6:15 but am too lazy to adjust it, and it really doesn’t matter. Bach cello suites to quietly lull me out of bed. The goal is to not wake my husband, who sleeps for another half hour. I keep quiet in the bathroom, too, trying not to clang around with my toothbrush and neti pot and nail brush and all the other morning ablutions. Then I throw on leggings and a sweatshirt, the mom uniform of Park Slope. It takes me fifteen minutes to get downstairs. Then I’ve got thirty minutes to myself before I have to wake up the kid (Dahlia, who’s ten) at 7:00am.
I drink a full twelve-ounce glass of water, spiked with lemon. The rule is that I can’t have tea until I drink up the water, and since I really want tea, I do it. Then I have tea, well-steeped Assam with whole milk.
I have twenty-five minutes left for early morning emails and planning my day. What do I need to get done? I make a mental list and organize myself, checking the calendar, checking my list of due dates for recipes I’m working on. Do I have enough orzo for the pasta salad I need to make today, or should I stop at the store on the way home from walking the kid to school?
Then there is yoga. Every morning I think about doing twenty minutes of restorative yoga from Glo before I wake the kid. I’ve done that exactly three times in the last year. But maybe today will be the day I make it four times!
At 7:00am I wake the kid and empty the dishwasher while making her a smoothie (I slip in an egg white if there’s one left over in the fridge or add yogurt). Then she gets buttered whole grain toast and honey. While she eats breakfast I make her lunch—she just started eating sandwiches, thank the sandwich gods. In years past, I’d poach a chicken breast some mornings because she’s spoiled and I’m a food writer, so it’s actually no big deal for me to poach a little chicken breast and there’s always fresh thyme in the fridge. But I’m glad those days are over. Sometimes she just gets a container of salami, plus fruit and cut up cucumbers. Depends on how tired I am.
At about 7:15am my husband comes downstairs, and he makes me more tea while I make him a jammy egg with soft butter and salt and pepper, and toast cut thickly and spread with so much butter it leaks out the other side. It’s nice to do these things for each other; it makes us both feel taken care of.
Two and a half days a week (Tuesday, Thursday, and every other Friday) I walk the kiddo 1.2 miles to school and back. On those days we rush out the door (homework, lunch, knitting for her elective all in the bookbag—check, check, check). We are out the door by 8:07am to get her there by 8:22 or 8:23, depending on how many dogs we stop to talk to. School starts at 8:25am and she hates being late. I could use some of that.
Then I walk home, arriving by 8:40am or so. Then I sit down at my computer and get to work.
At this point, I have not eaten anything yet. I don’t get hungry until around 10:00-11:00am, and my rule is don’t eat if you’re not hungry. Unless there are cookies.