There is a genetic rift in our family: the morning people (Ed and Asher) and the non-morning people (Noe and I).
This morning was a perfect example.
At 7:45am I awoke to the pitter patter of little footsteps in my room. Noe, fully dressed and breakfasted for the day by Ed, climbed into my bed, snuggled against me and promptly fell back asleep. Meanwhile, I could hear Asher and Ed downstairs. Asher was peppering Ed with questions about tomorrow. He wanted to know exactly what he was doing, who he was playing with, what he was eating. Not today...he already had figured that all out yesterday. That little guy, what a planner.
Meanwhile, I wonder how long Noe and I can hide out in bed before Ed comes back upstairs and rips the covers off of us.
I am not one of those people who likes to sleep in until noon, but it takes considerable effort for me to get up before 8am. Physically, it hurts...no matter what time I went to bed the night before. I'd like to blame it on my low blood pressure, but I've never had that link verified by medical professionals. I do know that various members of my family have similar morning "pains", so I am convinced that there is a genetic link.
I once longed to be one of those people who works out, makes a huge breakfast, reads the paper, and cleans the house, all before 7am, but these days I'm more of a realist. I can get a heck of a lot done between 9-midnight.
I have learned to adapt. I am really good at getting things organized for the morning the night before so I expend the least amount of energy necessary to ensure we are out the door in time.
But most mornings still don't go as well as planned. Yesterday, we managed to miss Noe's bus. As I ran him up to the school to avoid a tardy (can you get detention in kindergarten? I'm really not sure...), I looked back to see the contents of his lunchbag dotting the sidewalk like breadcrumbs from our car. Apparently, I hadn't closed his backpack completely shut. And when Asher and I take the city bus up to his preschool, most mornings we are running to the stop. Asher thinks it's all part of an elaborate and dramatic game, but most mornings we will miss the bus if we don't run.
And then there are the other preschool moms. I sometimes wonder if they think I am one of those alcoholic housewives when they see me stumble into Asher's classroom in my sweats, hair undone, grunting my morning greetings. Not addicted to alcohol, just sleep.