Morning Crunch

How to tone down the stress of getting the kids ready for school and yourself off to work

Weekday mornings used to be an ordeal for Laura Siracusa and her twochildren. Her son and daughter listened to the TV and radio instead ofgetting dressed. Anthony, 12, took 30-minute showers. Natalie, 10,stayed in her room with the door locked. There were fights, tears,spankings.

"It's been bad. I have gone to work crying. They have gone to schoolcrying," said Siracusa, a 43-year-old single mother who works as a citycourt clerk in Memphis. When she decided it was time for a big change,she took the kids to lunch and said, "We can't live this way anymore."

The first day of the new routine, Siracusa set a timer as Anthonyheaded for the shower. "Son," she said, "you have 10 minutes." She setthe timer for 20 minutes while he got dressed and cleaned his room. Shebanned locked doors and made TV and radio off limits until the kids werecompletely ready.

Now Anthony and Natalie get up at 6:15 a.m., 1 1/2 hours before theyleave for school. They're usually ready at least 30 minutes before theyget in the car.

The new routine is all right, both kids say, with little enthusiasm.But after a pause, Anthony said, "It ends up to be a better day" if youget up early. His sister agreed.

Along with the new rules, Siracusa decided to lighten up a bit."When you chill out, your kids tend to chill out," she says.

Mornings can be the most stressful time of day for families,particularly for parents who work outside the home, says BarbaraBlumenthal, program coordinator for the Parenting Center in Memphis.

"Children won't get up," says Cathy Faust, a home economist with theUniversity of Tennessee Agricultural Extension Service in Memphis, whosejob includes teaching classes about how to get organized. "People arelagging behind." Then there's the TV, not knowing what to wear,misplacing things. "It's like a vicious cycle."

Preparing as much as possible the night before and keeping crucialitems near the door are common strategies to ease the morning hassle.

For one family, arriving at a more organized approach was tough. "Wewere Tasmanian devils in the morning. We all slept late, we all ranthrough the house screaming, no one could find anything," says JeannetteCampbell, 49, a medical transcriptionist for St. Jude Children'sResearch Hospital in Memphis.

The low point came when Campbell and her 17-year-old daughter,Samantha Siebert, were frantically styling their hair together in onebathroom. Campbell was using the blow dryer and Samantha was sprayingher hair when Campbell's hair caught fire.

"Sam was screaming. The dog was barking. My hair was on fire andeveryone else was saying we're going to be five minutes late."

The next day, Campbell decided it was time for a morning overhaul.She was fed up that her husband, Joe, and Samantha waited until way toolate to get up, so she announced, "If you don't wake up tomorrowmorning, I'm not going to wake you."

She set alarms for them, but they didn't get up. She left for workanyway. By the time Joe woke up, it was 10:30. Samantha slept until12:30 p.m. "They were furious," Campbell says. But she had warned them.She told them if they wanted her to wake them, they were going to haveto cooperate.

She used a businesslike approach. "I wrote a contract out - that Iwould deliver my services, that I would make sure they would not be latebecause of anything going on inside the house. They had to give me theirfull cooperation. They had to read the contract and sign it," Campbellsays.

The reaction? "They rolled their eyes. They know I'm a little bitditzy." But the contract came in handy when Samantha started to argue.Campbell would reply simply, "Read your contract."

Because the family's big request was not to talk in the morning,Campbell turned to yellow sticky notes and folders with a color for eachfamily member. In the folders she puts whatever is needed for the nextday and usually attaches a yellow sticky note to the front. It may saysomething like, "This has to be signed and returned."

She also puts stickies on bathroom mirrors, on the coffee pot, onsteering wheels. She writes three to five notes for Samantha and two forJoe every day.

Then she changes the clocks. The clock in the kitchen has thecorrect time, but the other clocks in the house might be fast, might beslow. This way, Joe and Samantha can't think they have just a few moreminutes. "They're pretty much at my mercy because I won't go back andwake them up again."

Campbell packs her daughter's car for the next day and lines up herhusband's things by the door. And she now takes her bath at night. "Idon't dress with Sam anymore," she says, giggling. "After my hair caughton fire, I stopped sharing the bathroom with Sam."

She also got her family to share washing and ironing duty."Everybody has to contribute at least an hour on the weekend."

Although Mary McDougall considers herself organized, she had quite achallenge when her maternity leave was over. She had to get baby Robertand 4-year-old Meghan ready for day care, drive 30 minutes to her job asa Memphis junior high school guidance counselor and arrive before 7:15a.m. By the time McDougall gets up at 5, her husband, Don, has left forhis job as branch manager for a temporary-labor agency.

At the heart of McDougall's new system is preparing for the wholeweek on Sunday afternoons and getting the kids dressed near each otherdownstairs. She buys baby supplies in bulk and packs enough for a weekin the car on Sunday nights, along with a check for the day care, aweek's worth of extra clothes for each child and a sack breakfast forMeghan, who prefers to wait until she gets to day care to eat.

On Sunday afternoons, McDougall stores Robert's outfits for the weekin a plastic crate in the study next to the living room. While herhusband is playing with Robert, McDougall hangs five complete outfitsfor Meghan - down to underwear and tights - in the laundry room offthe kitchen. Each night, she lays one outfit on a couch in the livingroom, along with black shoes that go with everything.

For herself, she picks out five outfits and hangs them on two doorsin her large bathroom upstairs. And she sets out Robert's breakfast atnight so she won't have to think about it the next day.

McDougall wakes before the kids and gets ready in 10 minutes. That'spossible because she has a short wash-and-air-dry hairstyle and usesminimal makeup. Then she gets the kids up and takes them downstairs.While she feeds Robert, Meghan dresses herself where McDougall can seeher.

By 6 a.m. McDougall and the children usually arrive at day care. Forthe 30-minute commute, she builds in time for the unexpected, hoping toget to work by 6:50.

Gail Schledwitz, who also lives in Memphis, makes a hot breakfastfor Kathryn, 12, and serves it to her in bed. Then she goes into9-year-old Karly's room. "She sticks a foot out, I put a sock on. Idress her in bed. By the time she has her clothes on, she's awake." Bothgirls bathe at night and Karly isn't interested in breakfast, so aboutall they have left to do is make their beds. "We're ready to go in 30minutes," Schledwitz says.

She started serving the girls breakfast in their rooms when theywere much younger because that helped them wake up in a good mood. "WhenI was a kid, I used to hate alarm clocks," she says. "I was not amorning person. I wanted my kids to wake up sweet. We don't have anyyelling, any carrying on in the morning."

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