Featured blogger Illyse Lane appears every Thursday.

Nine years ago, my mornings were slow. I woke at 6:35 a.m. I slowly sipped a cup of hot coffee. I took time to dress for work, style my hair and apply a bit of make-up. Then, I took even more time to relax, read the newspaper and plan my day before walking out the door at 7:35.

Back to the present. Still wake at 6:35 a.m. Still sip a hot cup of coffee. But relaxation is no longer my reality. Now there's an underlying hustle in the air. I quickly dress. And it's gym clothes, not work clothes. No sleek blown out hair for me. Too much time. No make-up, just some cream that promises to de-wrinkle and de-puff. I still walk out the door at 7:35, but there is no peace in my pace.

7 a.m.: Start breakfast. Eggs or Egos? Bacon and cereal? Glance at headlines and briefly absorb world events. I savor the last moment of quiet and turn toward the bedrooms. I am a sergeant, ready to rally my troops. First round of wake-up calls.

7:10 a.m.: Breakfast on table, second round of wake-up calls. Two sleepy-headed, wild-haired children with blankets wrapped around them slowly wander into the kitchen. One grabs the sports page and the other hovers over his shoulder causing our first fight of the morning. Sip more coffee.

7:20 a.m.: As children clear plates, they fight over who will open the vitamins. And who will get the sink first to brush their teeth. Fighting ensues while they jockey for positions to determine who will get to use the potty first, which somehow turns into two at nearly the same time, complete with pushing. (Make a mental note to clean the bathroom later.) Older brother, Big Guy, tells younger brother, Little Guy, he is disgusting for not washing his hands, which makes Little Guy taunt Big Guy by waving hands in his face. More fights. Sip more coffee.

7 :25 a.m.: Wardrobe check for kids. Little Guy, are you wearing underwear? He answers, "Yes." I ask him if I need to check. I hear a big dramatic "Ugggh" as the drawer opens to obviously put underwear on.

7:30 a.m.: Issue 5-minute warning. Boys talking about something very important while half dressed. Some giggles matriculate to the kitchen as I wipe down the countertops. I smile as I listen. An optimistic thought: "Maybe they will stop arguing!" Chug last of coffee.

7:35 a.m.: Proceed to the car. Backpacks? Check. Shoes? Check. Do I have my keys? Optimistic thought crushed as boys pile in simultaneously through one door, seeing who can knock the other one down. Small fight erupts. The car engine starting jolts them back into the moment. Seatbelts fastened, we pull out. Silence.

7:35 and 42 seconds: Silence broken as Big Guy realizes he did not put his book in his backpack and LIttle Guy forgot show and tell. Jam on breaks in driveway as they hop out to retrieve items in record time.

7:37 a.m.: Mission complete. Scheduled for on-time school arrival.

And so goes the day. And the next day. And then the next day. We've done this drill a hundred times, but it is never exactly the same. Ever. How can that be? Because when you become a mom, the simple, repetitive routines - the ones we do methodically, slowly and carefully - become unpredictable. I still remember the slow, quiet mornings. But I don't miss them. Instead, I know that as we run, each day holds a promise of what will test my patience, pull at my heart and remind me that I am incredibly fortunate to have this time with my young boys.

And here is the most important lesson of being a mom ... the only consistency in parenthood is inconsistency.