I am not a morning person. I might have been at one time, but Iím not anymore. My husband and dog will attest to that. Actually, they would declare it an understatement Ė my husband emphatically speaking and the dog by doing what he does most mornings . . . scurrying out of my way. In my defense, itís not my fault. Fibromyalgia and arthritis reside with me and they arenít any fun to have around; especially in the mornings when Iím getting ready for work. Aches and fatigue make me snap at my dear husband who only wants to know if Iíd like oatmeal for breakfast. My poor sheltie will be waiting faithfully outside the bathroom door when my not-so-nimble fingers lose their grip-on the deodorant, hairspray, whatever - and the noise scares him into a frantic scamper!
Now, donít get me wrong. Every morning I open my eyes and thank God for the gift of another day. Then I begin to pray without ceasing . . . Dear God, give me the strength to get out of bed . . . let this hot shower relieve my aches and pains. In between my prayers and occasionally instead of my prayers (Iím being honest here), all depending on what kind of night Iíve had, I growl at whoever and whatever dares to confront me before Iíve had at least one cup of coffee and a chance to work out the stiffness.
Last month my daughter, Niki, asked me to house-sit for her, which meant a night with my 14 year-old grandson, two rambunctious dogs and a cat. I looked forward to it. Tyler and I stayed up late to watch a scary movie. Exhausted, I forgot to take my medication . . . realizing it when I woke up the first time at . . . hmmm . . . whereís the clock? No clock in the bedroom! How in the heck am I supposed to know how much longer I can sleep? Grrrr.
Morning arrives and I achingly crawl out of bed to let the dogs outside. Eight legs dance around me, as I realize I canít remember the alarm code. It was difficult to arouse Tyler and get more than an incoherent mumble? Grrrr.
Coffee . . . I need coffee. I discover thereís no scoop in the coffee can. How does one make coffee with no scoop to measure it out? Doesnít matter anyway, the coffeemaker is a new-fangled gadget that I canít figure out. Grrr.
So, Iím feeling lousy from lack of meds and sleep, I canít figure out the coffeemaker, and Iím downright cold! I pull my robe on and settle wearily into a recliner. Both dogs vie for attention that Iím too tired to give. They roll on their backs, placated with belly rubs from my feet. Aaah, peace.
Suddenly Tylerís voice booms cheerfully, ďGood morniní, Grandma! Whatís for breakfast? Are you making me gravy and biscuits?Ē Grrr. One look at me and his brows furrow. ďWhatís wrong, Grandma?Ē
So I recite a litany of my woes. In answer, he gets me a sweatshirt, makes the coffee and asks why I need a clock when Iím sleeping. Grrr.
I leave Niki a note:
1. How on earth do you sleep without a clock in your room?
2. How do you make coffee with no scoop?
3. Why is your house so dang cold?
Later, she, too, asked why I needed a clock when I was sleeping and didnít have to set an alarm to get up (she uses her cell phone). She said the coffee scoop was in the drawer, and why hadnít I just turned the heat on (it was actually off!). I replied, ďIím not a morning person!Ē Together we had a good laugh,as she relayed Tylerís tale of what a bear I was that morning.
I recently spent the night again, to dog-sit. When I entered the back door, I had to chuckle. There were Post-It notes everywhere - on the alarm, the coffee pot (already filled, with an arrow pointing to which button to push), the thermostat, the TV and the remotes. There was also a clock sitting on the bedroom dresser. Bless her heart; sheíd done everything possible to take the Grrrr out of my morning. Clearly she now realizes . . . Iím not a morning person!
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