The Alarm Symphony—6:00 a.m.

The alarm clock is the world’s least favorite sound when the day starts.

However, even before she opens her eyes, her mind is already racing like a group chat:

“Did I iron the children’s clothes? That consent slip—did I sign it? 

What is for supper, then?

Meet five-year-old Ava. Liam is eight years old. Jane, their 35-year-old mother, works as a project manager. She constantly struggles to fit everything into her day, much like a lot of working mothers in Nairobi.

At 6:10 a.m., Jane is already going through her to-do list, which includes waking the children, packing lunches, preparing breakfast, checking her emails, and, ideally, getting ready for ten minutes.

6:45 a.m. — The Significant Morning Surge.

Picture a setting where everyone is racing at twice the pace — that’s Jane’s kitchen. The aroma of coffee blends with charred toast and strawberry jelly.

“Mum, where is my other shoe?”

“Mum, she grabbed my pencil case!”

“Mum, could you style my hair in an Elsa braid?”

Amidst officiating bouts and spreading butter on toast, she drinks tepid coffee and replies to a morning message from her supervisor:

“Require that client report by 9 a.m. exactly.”

By 7:15, she resembles a human octopus — preparing lunch boxes, fastening jackets, locating lost socks, and looking at her phone for traffic information.

What is the final thing she does before departing? A swift look in the mirror. “Pretty good,” she thinks. “You seem as if you only partially completed a marathon.”

 8:00 a.m. — The Journey Diaries.

Inside the vehicle, disorder transforms into a different type of madness — Nairobi’s traffic.

A thousand vehicles, constant beeping, and the radio announcer happily discussing “morning inspiration.”

Jane looks at the children in the rearview mirror — one is singing Baby Shark, while the other is vocalizing spelling words. She smiles for five minutes. It’s her daily acknowledgment that within the chaos, there is happiness.

She leaves them at school with a flurry of hugs, notes, and a “Be nice to everyone!” before joining the stream of vehicles moving toward the city center.

She shifts her mindset: transitioning from motherhood to work mode.

 9:00 a.m. — Transitioning from Mom to Manager.

The moment she gets into the office, it’s time  to work. The same woman who recently prepared lunchboxes is now directing a meeting, equipped with PowerPoint slides and assurance.

“Jane, fantastic presentation,” a coworker remarks.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, attempting to overlook the yogurt mark on her sleeve that she just saw.

Messages pour in. The client requests changes. The supervisor advances the deadline. Her phone buzzes — it’s the nurse from the school:

“Ava is running a small fever; could you come and get her?”

The unseen burden of motherhood falls heavily on her shoulders once more.

Yet she perseveres — contacts her husband, coordinates with her mother for assistance, and continues to type. Her saying? “You don’t let balls fall; you merely discover which ones rebound.”

12:30 p.m. — The Meal That Didn’t Happen.

The lunch hour comes — for all the others.

As Jane is about to take her first bite of her heated leftovers, a coworker arrives and places them on her desk:

“Just wondering if you could look at this document.”

When she is done, her meal has gone cold. She consumes it regardless.

An email from the school appeared in her inbox: “Friday is the Parent-Teacher Meeting.” She exhales deeply because she needs to reschedule another meeting.

 3:00 p.m. — The Afternoon Dash.

Afternoons are a haze. She takes client calls, examines budgets, and sends reminders — all while mentally planning for tonight’s dinner.

At times, she thinks about how her male coworkers manage to concentrate without fretting over the milk situation at home. Instead of voicing her grievances, she transforms that thought into inspiration.

Her guiding principle? “Elegance over flawlessness.”

At 4:30, her supervisor initiates an unplanned meeting that takes a while. She repeatedly looks at her watch — the school van arrives with the kids at 5:30. Provided traffic is favorable, she will arrive home right on schedule.

 6:00 p.m. — Cozy, (Chaotic) Abode.

The moment she crosses the threshold, her second shift starts.

The children dash over to embrace her — and that quickly alleviates the tension.

“Mum, check this out!” “I made a drawing of us!” says Ava, displaying a crayon illustration of their family beneath a rainbow.

“It’s ideal,” Jane remarks, securing it on the fridge with a magnet.

But then reality hits — laundry stacks, dishes, assignments, and dinner.

She pulls her hair back, dons her “Mom cape,” and starts her tasks.

7:30 p.m.— The Homework Rush.

She is helping Liam with his math homework as dinner is cooking on the stove.

He starts reading, “If a train leaves Nairobi at 8 a.m. “Please don’t bring up trains,” she jokes, stirring the soup.

Simultaneously, Ava spills juice onto the floor. The canine barks. The telephone is ringing.

It’s pandemonium — the sort that could induce tears or laughter, based on the mindset.

Jane selects laughter.

They eventually gather to dine — rice, beef stew, and a serving of tranquility.

 9:00 p.m. — The Nighttime Routine.

It is time for a story after meals and baths.

She reads The Lion and the Mouse while the kids snuggle up close.

 Midway, her voice begins to slow down. The fatigue seeps in.

“Mom, are you awake?”

“Simply closing my eyes…”

Once they drift off, she stays for a moment — observing their serene expressions. The disorder is valuable.

 10:30 p.m. — Tranquil Thoughts.

The home is finally quiet. She sinks onto the couch with a cup of tea and flips through her phone — images from the day appear before her:

Ava’s morning grin with toothpaste on her jaw.

The whiteboard in the meeting room is filled with concepts.

Liam’s notes for his homework.

The dining table is covered in crumbs.

Every picture narrates a tale — of hard work, fatigue, and infinite affection.

She reflects on all the other mothers in similar situations who may not have everything planned out, but they continue to show up each and every day.

 11:00 p.m. — The Last Reflection.

Prior to sleeping, Jane programs her alarm and quietly offers a brief prayer of thankfulness.

Indeed, it’s outrageous. Indeed, it’s daunting.

Yet it is also profoundly rewarding.

Due to the disorder and the coffee, there are times of love, development, and laughter- evidence that being a working mother is not about being flawless.

It all comes down to doing it from the heart.