I am definitely not a morning person. Never have been. I remember getting up every morning of my life at home with my parents by laying over the heater vent, praying for it to come on while I drifted back to sleep. This induced yelling by my mother over the fact that I wasn’t moving. Hey – I was sleeping. I found her, the noise, all light, the sunrise . . . most irritating.
Having kids of our own changes this, thus turning us into morning people.
Nothing like hearing a little voice say, “Mom, I went potty on the bathroom floor” at 5:30am to get you used to getting up before your toddlers decide to mess with your morning by upchucking, or peeing on the dog, before the world gets up.
I’ve become pretty good at mornings. I still need my electronic coffee maker to self-brew at 5:30am, so I don’t kill someone by 6:00am, but all in all, I’ve adjusted. No more curling up over the heater for this girl!
But God, Buddha, the Universe, or DNA, has a sense of humor depending on your belief system, and [insert your belief system here] gave me my son Brian . . . who hates getting up in the morning . . . worse than I did.
I think it’s some cruel surreal joke that he behaves like me . . . so our mornings consist of this mom-person resembling a zombie (me) fixing breakfast and putting the milk in the pantry instead of the refridgerator, with zombie son (Brian) putting on his underwear and shirt, thinking he’s ready for school. We’re pretty much on course for running your local DMV.
Now, my ex husband is johnny-on-the-spot-leap-out-of-bed-at-5:30am-ready-to-go annoying guy. Yeah, I divorced that. He falls asleep at 7pm every night – so that makes things even. Needless to say, he’s taken it upon himself to check on us in the morning – every morning. He calls, checks in and sometimes insists upon taking Brian to school.
I don’t own a gun.
But I think I prefer Brian and my version of mornings . . .
Picture my son and I rambling around the house, managing to somehow shower, eat, make lunches, get dressed and get out the door on time, but we don’t actually have a conversation AT ALL for an hour and a half, until I am driving him to school. At some point in the car Brain says something like . . .
“Mom, the sun’s bright this morning . . .”
“Should I have stopped?”
“Have a nice day.”
I now gulp half my coffee. He doesn’t look back at me. He pretends he didn’t get out of my car. I stare at the teenage girls in super short shorts on a freezing day and say a silent prayer to the [insert your belief system here] that I don’t have a teenage girl.
I think it’s working.
At night I ask Brian about his school day he says, “Mom! I already talked to you in the morning!”
“Yeah mom, we talked all the way to school!”
Yeah, he’s my son alright.
Until next time -