An Inconvenient Truth

I hate getting up in the morning.

In spring or summer (my favorite seasons), it’s hard enough to get out of bed early; there’s something wonderful about luxuriating in bed with the sunlight streaming into the room and the sound of birds twittering outside. (Although in recent years, this idyllic scene has been marred changed somewhat by the addition of a shrill voice asking me “Can I have cartoons?”)

But with that said, I can still get out of bed with something resembling a spring in my step, because the sun is shining and the air is warm, and with those things comes, for me, the promise of a good day.

But these days, these cold, awful days, when I awaken thinking it’s the dead of night because it’s so friggin’ dark outside, only to realize that it’s almost noon – okay, 6 a.m., but still – these days when our bedroom feels like a dark cave from which I should emerge somewhere around tax time, well, on these days it is near impossible to haul my ass out of bed.

Which goes a long way to explaining why every morning, we are in a rush rush rush to get out of here. If Mommy doesn’t get up, neither does Hubby. Neither does Punksin. We all lie in our beds, cozy, warm – and late.

I wouldn’t even care so much, except that we get up, and then I am the only one who seems to understand the meaning of the word rush, the meaning of putting some pep in your step. The Tech Guru wakes up. For him, there is no bounding out of bed. As my grandmother would say, he has to soak, a process that seems to involve alternating between staring into space and watching SportsCenter. Meanwhile, Punksin, who has to be coaxed onto the potty every morning as though they’re giving flu shots in there, sits on her Dora potty seat for roughly 10-15 minutes, no exaggeration. She pees, she poops, she sings and tells stories, does puppet shows with her fingers – it’s a bloody cabaret show.

Meanwhile, what is yours truly doing?

Rushing. Rushing to get dressed. To get Punksin dressed. To pick out clothes for Hubby so he avoids the godawful pink-shirt-with-red-tie combo that he seems to be favoring recently. To make breakfast for the two of them. To make lunch for Punskin unless it’s Wednesday and thank God for Wednesday because Wednesday is pizza day at school, in which case I have the less strenuous task (sometimes) of finding two single dollar bills to put in an envelope and they must be dollar bills not coins and they do not give change nor do they hold any money for the following weeks so it must be two exact dollar bills, which would be real easy if I were a stripper but not being one, sometimes we don’t have singles and I now have to make an extra stop on the way to school (which is why I said this is only sometimes less strenuous). Somewhere in there I have to pop a breast in Pudding’s mouth unless, of course, he’s still sleeping, which may or may not be the case. Then there’s Punksin’s hair, which gives life to the phrase “oh what a tangled web we weave” and which must be made presentable for school. And her teeth must be brushed.

Notice I did not mention a shower for myself, as I do not remember the last time I took a shower in the morning before leaving the house.

What kills me is, Punksin and Hubby are the ones who have to leave the house. I can sit on my ass all day – I don’t have to go to school and my work, such as it is, is right here. But I’m the one rushing. And I have threatened not to rush, to make Hubby miss the train he HAS to be on, to make Punksin miss Circle Time.

I have concluded: they don’t give a shit. They know I am only bluffing.

This morning, Hubby woke up yelling “Oh shit!!” which of course woke me up as I find that generally, people, especially my calm husband, do not wake up yelling “Oh shit” just because they’re really excited that it’s Thursday. Apparently he thought or dreamed that he had left money in a shirt that I’ve since sent to the cleaners. He quickly realized that this was not the case – went back to sleep. I, looking at the clock, saw that it was 6:15 – dark as all hell but 6:15. So I figured there was zero point in going back to sleep.

So I got up.

And dressed. (Still no shower because now I actually prefer night showers…)

And made breakfast – a real breakfast as opposed to one consisting of reheating various frozen items like waffles and pre-cooked sausages. With a real pot of coffee too! Not instant!

And got Punksin’s lunch ready.

And actually ATE breakfast (because normally that doesn’t happen either.)

And fed and changed Pudding.

All at a nice leisurely pace for myself.

Which made it really fun when it was time to wake up the Leisure Twins:


Punksin thought it was funny.

Hubby was not so amused.

Too bad.

So what, you ask, is the inconvenient truth?

That I just need to get up earlier in the morning. So that I’m not rushing and losing my head while these two, the ones who actually have to leave the house, look at me as they dawdle and yawn. Because bottom line, I don’t have to go anywhere, but I have to help and arrange a lot of crap for those who do. And since I have not yet gotten sane enough to do a lot of this stuff the night before (hey, I do pick out and arrange Punksin’s clothes and I’ve actually started remembering to keep dollar bills around), the only thing that is going to help me not lose my effing mind is getting up more than an hour before we actually need to be racing out of the driveway.

I hate that.

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