Some of you may be surprised to discover that I don’t have a strict morning routine. Most of you never considered it and don't care in the least. That's not a very friendly attitude, BTW.
Even so, the important rules are these:
1. Don’t get up right before you should leave for work.
2. Drink as much coffee as you can.
3. Feed the cats.
For all other mornings, I have options completely based on what I feel like when I wake up.
1. Make coffee before feeding the cats. Or after.
2. Empty litterboxes before or after feeding the cats
3. Brush the cats.
4. Sit on the deck in the swing.
5. Play Facebook Scrabble.
6. Eat breakfast.
8. ITB stretches.
9. Go for a walk.
10. Go for a swim.
11. Wash hair.
12. Relax in a bubble bath.
13. Read a book.
Well, you get the idea. I suppose I think mornings are for my enjoyment rather than for rushing around and there is nothing I hate more in the morning than someone who is under stress. Frankly, I think if you have nothing pleasant to say prior to 0800, you should steer clear of me unless you would like for me to rip off your head and spit down your neck. You may speak, but be nice and be pleasant. Anything else is met with contempt.
If by contempt you mean rage. Obviously.
You see, I deal with crap all day just like everyone else. Mornings should be calm and pleasant. Tranquil is what I mean to say. I do not care that you are late for work (stop using the snooze), can’t find something essential (prepare the night before) or want to wear pink socks rather than the socks already chosen for your outfit, which are pink on the bottom to begin with (never buy anything but white socks).
Most mornings run smoothly on my own timeline with no violence. Sunday mornings never go the way they should and I guess I enjoy the craziness while I secretly long for my solitude routine. The kids are great risers and always in a good mood!
I hear them saying, “Shhhhhh” in their bedroom, which is right across the hall. I know I can drift back to sleep, but soon they will come into the bedroom to look at me. I wonder if they are surprised that I am awake. I smile, Kena breaks into a grin and then throws herself onto the bed. Oren is next up so he can cuddle with a cat.
Then we get up. I make breakfast and hope they eat it. Heaven forbid if they need a bath although that is sometimes used for entertainment purposes by yours truly. They often play on the deck. I drink coffee, but I never stretch, play Scrabble, wash my hair (can I get a witness?) or relax in any way. Ten minutes later than I should, I announce that it is time to dress because I am sure they are capable of dressing in 20 minutes. Last Sunday after I dried Kena’s hair, I walked into the kitchen to discover Oren still in his pajamas, playing with his socks. If he had been 15, he would have looked at me and said, “What?” in a perfect Vinnie Barbarino imitation.
Just between us, I think they like the attention and so even though they can both dress themselves, I help them. I wonder what else I do to spoil them. I cut up their waffles. I cut up hamburgers and call them nuggets and pour ketchup for dipping. I hate ketchup, by the way. So I sacrifice is what I’m saying.
I know the following things:
- I will do Kena’s hair, but it will be a mess before we arrive at church.
- I will make breakfast, but they will be starved out of their minds before the sermon begins.
- If I am in the sort of mood that makes the nursery worker my very best friend, they will decide they absolutely must hear the morning’s sermon first hand, sitting next to me or on me or in my arms.
- If we are praying, they will be unable to contain the urge to inform me that they farted, burped or noticed a bug on the floor.
Next time we get together, I may bore you to death with all the cultural references I make that my younger coworkers don’t get. Vinnie Barbarino made me think of that. Does that ever happen to you? I told a coworker she looked like Mary Richards one day (meaning that she looked stylish and mod) and she thought I had insulted her.
Kids these days.