How Kids See Us: The Morning Chase That Wasn’t a Chase (Apparently)

It was one of those school mornings. You know the kind - cereal on the floor, socks missing their partners, and me already half-stressed before the kettle even finished boiling.

The kids asked if they could play chess. Chess! Honestly, I love that they’re into it.

We had ten minutes.
So I said, “Okay, five minutes. Just five.”

And of course, five minutes came and went like a breath.
Time to go. Obviously.

Except… obviously not.

Cue the drama:

“NOOO! Just one more minute!”

My daughter immediately took off like a tiny Olympian. I calmly (well, calmly-ish) put the chessboard away. She then hopped on an indoor scooter - because of course she did - and zoomed down the hallway like she was on a mission.

Meanwhile, in my head?
A full, slow boil.
It was 7:20 in the morning. We were definitely going to be late. She had a test. I had a ton of work waiting. And instead of shoes-and-jackets, I was suddenly starring in a chase scene.

And yes… I shouted. I did.

“ENOUGH! GET HERE! WE ARE GOING!”

The thing is - shouting never actually helps.
And afterwards, when the adrenaline settles, it hits me every time: this is not the behaviour I want her to copy. Kids don’t learn emotional regulation because we tell them about it. They learn it because we model it. And in that moment, I was modelling exactly what I hope she does not do when she’s frustrated.
So no, shouting didn’t get us anywhere faster - it just added fuel to the chaos.

She?
Absolutely loving life.

If I picture it from her eyes, I actually have to laugh - there’s me, turning red, flapping my arms, chasing her around the house. She’s thinking:
“Mum NEVER plays like this before school! Best game EVER!”

And why would she care about being late?
Nothing bad really happens.
Maybe she gets a negative point at school, but those don’t mean anything. (Which, honestly, I’m glad about. I don’t want my child behaving just to collect points - because what happens when no one is giving them out?)

But coming back to her view of the morning:
She had my full attention.
She was having fun.
She turned getting dressed into a game, and she won.

From my point of view:
I lost the plot over a scooter and the ticking clock.

So, what did I actually learn?

1. Be kind AND firm.

Firm about the reality, kind about the fact she’s not out to ruin my morning - she’s just being eight.

2. Don’t - under any circumstances offer something your kids adore when you only have five minutes left.

Chess? No.
ANY game? No.
Anything involving wheels? Absolutely not.

Next time I’ll just say:

“We’re leaving now. I’ll be in the car. Come when you’re ready.”

No chasing.
No shouting.
No unintentionally starring in a comedy sketch at 7:20 a.m.

And maybe next time, instead of chess, I’ll offer something so unexciting it’s impossible to get carried away.
Like spelling.
Nobody runs off for spelling.