Why aren't I better at routine?

Well, today's the big day everybody - the first day of our new linkie party, "The Lounge". If you don't know what I am talking about, check out my page here, it will tell you everything you need to know!
Today Tegan from Musings of the Misguided is our host, and the theme is - "Why aren't I better at this yet??" - please feel free to link up your own post and have fun!

I have to add the disclaimer that Brenda of Mumabulous fame has ALREADY WRITTEN A BETTER POST ON A VERY SIMILAR TOPIC for The Lounge this week! But I must press on...

Soooooooo......GUYS! Why the ever loving eff am I SO BAD AT STICKING TO ROUTINE? Particularly on the days I go to work?

It is a GOOD question.

Of course, one could cite the baby, small child, and husband as the obvious speedbumps on the road to ORGANISATION TOWN, but actually (and it pains me to say this) I must also take some of the responsibility. I know. Galling.  The words are STICKING IN MY CRAW YOU GUYS! UGH!

OK. Let's workshop it, people. Let's just deconstruct the shit out of a typical morning and GET TO THE BOTTOM OF IT ALL!

This is what should happen.

Night before: Tidy kitchen COMPLETELY. Put dishwasher on. Make and pack lunch. Choose work outfit and put that out. Tidy house more or less. GO TO BED EARLY DAMMIT.

5am: Wake before kids. S has walk. M has shower. (THIS SHOULD BE SWAPPED ON ALTERNATE DAYS SO WE BOTH GET SOME EXERCISE)
6am: Kids wake. S has shower, M puts breakfast on and unloads dishwasher.
6:30am: Everyone eats breakfast and engages in family discussions about art, literature, current affairs, Peppa Pig, poo and wee.
7am: P assists M by getting her kindy bag ready. M gets B dressed. S tidies up kitchen and puts a load of clothes in the washing machine.
7:30: We all leave the house. M takes kids to kindy then goes to work. I go straight to work.

This looks REALLY SENSIBLE AND DOABLE, right? Am I right? I'm right aren't I? Definitely right about this. The THEORY IS SOUND, reader.

Here is a dramatic reinactment of ACTUAL EVENTS that occur on a typical work day at our house.

5am: I hear the baby stirring in his room. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. I can feel M doing the same. The baby starts to squawk louder. I lie as still as possible until I feel M get up and go down the hallway, coming back with baby B. We all lie together in bed while he crawls all over us, until we hear P's footsteps in the hallway. She appears at my side, imperiously demanding that I "Move over!" and complaining that "Mummy your BREATH smells AWFUL!". M and I continue to lie with our eyes shut while they both squirm and crawl over us.  Finally M and I can pretend we are asleep no longer. We embark on a conversation along these lines;

M: Are you going to get up with them or have a shower first?
Me: I should really go for a walk. I need to do more exercise. I've put on so much weight. How do people fit in exercise? I don't think there's time this morning. Probably I should get up and then you should have a shower. Then I'll have a shower.
M: I think you should have a shower first.
Me: No you should have a shower first while I get breakfast and then I'll just have a shower and leave straight after.
M: OK.

6:30am: We finally get up. I take the kids out and start breakfast.  This is made difficult by the fact we forgot to put the dishwasher on the night before, so I have to wash out some things before I start. I can hear M carrying out long and complex ablutions in the ensuite. P and B pull a million toys out onto the floor. It all takes a really long time and sounds like this;

P: Muuuuummmmmyyyy I'm HUNGRY!
Me: I'm just putting the porridge on, darling, you'll have to wait a bit.
P: Muuuummmmyyyy Benji is taking my THINGS! *outraged screams from B as she takes her toys back off him*
[I interrupt my breakfast-making to intervene].
Me: P if you don't want B to take your toys then put them in your room.
P: NO!
Me: *Grr*
[I go back to kitchen and keep making breakfast. P disappears and appears wearing a different outfit].
Me: P! If you are going to get changed don't leave your PJs on the FLOOR! Take them into your ROOM! P! P! Are you listening to me! Hey! P! Oh FOR GOD'S SAKE I'll do it.
[I interrupt breakfast-making again to take P's PJs back to her room. While there I make her bed and chuck some things into toy baskets etc. before remembering I was actually making the porridge].

And so forth.

7:30am: I have finally finished making breakfast and we are sitting down, eating, I am wrestling with B as he desperately tries to shovel the porridge into his mouth with two spoons. It goes EVERYWHERE. Like EVERYWHERE. After we've finished, P runs off. B has smeared porridge all over his face and in his hair. I wipe him down and get him out of the highchair, and start cleaning the mess on the floor.

7:45am: M emerges from our bedroom showered and dressed. He channels a hobbit and has first breakfast and second breakfast too. General stuffing around and chasing of P and packing of kindy bags occurs. M remembers he hasn't made his lunch. I remember I haven't made mine either. M gets a whole lot of stuff out of the fridge and makes sandwiches and snacks and stuff.

8:15am: I am still in my pyjamas. By some miracle M and the kids are dressed and in the car. I wave them off.

8:20am: I race around tidying things, jump in the shower, decide there's no time to shave legs or wash hair. I get dressed, jump in car and begin my hour long commute.

But not before wasting time by taking a few selfies of my work outfit whilst doing dumb poses. SO IMPORTANT DON'T YOU KNOW!

9:30am: I race into the office, flustered, hungry again. People comment on how nice my hair looks. I reply "Oh it's probably because it's full of GREASE! Yeah I haven't washed it for like DAYS!". People look a bit less impressed after that.
5:30pm: I finally get to leave the office, because I got there so late, and race home.

6:45pm: I arrive home. Kids and M have eaten. Babysitter and M are bathing kids. I reluctantly counsel the young flibberdigibbit babysitter because her dreaders boyfriend said he'd marry her in ten years if they were still single but doesn't want to tell his friends they are going out together and she's quit uni to work for him YADA YADA YADA. Ugh. I hurry her out the door. She talks the whole time.

7pm: I put B to bed. M puts P to bed. B goes to sleep. P comes out a million times and finally stays in bed by 7:30 ish.  By this time we are exhausted, so shovel some food in, do a mediocre tidy of kitchen and slump on couch. I think about making my lunch but don't. I think about putting my clothes out for the next day but don't. You get the drift.

AND repeat!

WHY DO I DO IT DUDES?

I fly by the seat of my pants.

The idea of working more than 2 days GIVES ME THE HEEBIE JEEBIES! How would I do it? I want to have a lie down just thinking about it.

I need to BOOT CAMP MYSELF!

Come on! YEAH! GET PUMPED! GET ORGANISED YOU LAZY WOMAN! WRITE LISTS! AND THEN ACTUALLY DO THE THINGS ON THE LISTS! MAKE GOOD HABITS! BE BETTER AT STUFF! ROUTINE IS THE BACKBONE OF FAMILY LIFE! MEAL PLAN! ONLINE GROCERIES! AND SO FORTH!

Or not. Look, I guess it's got me this far. Look at me! I'm a high flyer baby!* Maybe it's working for me? Maybe it's because I AM A CREATIVE GENIUS AND VALUE SPONTANEITY AND FUN TIMES AND CHILLAXING WITH MY HOMIES?

Who knows. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks. And it's hard for a tiger to change its stripes. And you can't lead a horse to water. YOU FEEL ME?**

Now excuse me while I write out a new Family Routine and Meal Plan, put it up on the fridge, ignore it for a week, and carry on in the same freaked out fashion that I always do.

Until next time, adieu. Adieu. To yer and yer and yer...

*I may not actually be a high flyer.
**It's totally ok if you don't. Feel me, I mean. I don't really know what it means anyway.