I used to not be a morning person – and I’m still not – but lately it seems to be the best time of the day.
Every morning at 6 AM, I walk into my 12-year-old’s room, sit down on the edge of his bed and gently wake him up. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Time to rise and shine!” He turns over, rubs his eyes, lights up with a brilliant smile and nods his head. Satisfied that he is not going to fall back to sleep, I walk across the hall and do the same thing for his older brother, a little more reserved, a little bit quieter, “Time to get up, sweetie. It’s getting late.” A couple of grunts and I know he has heard me.
A few minutes pass and as I’m brushing my teeth, I hear “Goodbye!” shouted from downstairs, as my husband leaves for work. “Bye, honey, have a good day!” is my routine shouted response. “Bye!” he shouts back and is out the door. “Sleepyhead” has now wandered into my bedroom and on his way to the bathroom seeks me out for a big hug that just makes me smile and realize how lucky I am.
As we rush to get out the door – signing school agendas, eating breakfast and packing lunches – the early morning magic starts to lose its shine a bit. Just when I start to come down from my early morning high, “Sweetie” walks up and gives me a hug and a shy “Morning, Mommy.” Never too old, it seems.
Although that peaceful, lucky feeling sometimes doesn’t even last until we pull the car out of the driveway, knowing that I get to experience it all over again tomorrow makes anything that happens the rest of the day totally tolerable.