Morning Person

I get it.  I am a morning person myself, and I love being a morning person.  I get the feeling, the rush when your eyes flip open and you realize a new day has arrived full of possibilities and responsibilities, and the need to get up and get started.  I love the renewed energy in my muscles and the freshly firing synapses in my rested brain.  I love that glorious few hours when the house is quiet and I can go exercise, read, or sneak around and get things done while my family of hooligans snoozes away.  Morning are magical, and I am a morning person.

Unfortunately, so is Luke.  The earlier the sun gets up, the earlier he gets up.  And right now in mid-July, that is pretty darn early.  Dare I say it, too early for me.

My timer is usually set for 5am, though often I wake up earlier and just can't go back to sleep. (my lucky number is 3am.  If I wake up anytime after 3am for any reason, I can't go back to sleep.)  But in the summer since my kids don't have to be off to school in the morning, I indulge and set my alarm to 6am.  Usually I am up at 5 anyway.  But when I need that extra hour in the summertime, it is so nice to get it.

But now I have this sunny-side-up three year old who rises early, and wants to rouse the entire family with him - starting always with me.

This morning he got up and decided to get some bread and honey for himself, and some for me too.  He came into my bedroom with the two dripping slices of bread, and laid one of them on my chest as I was sleeping.

"One for me, one for Mom," he announces.

"One what?" I think as I  roll to my side.  I quickly discover the "what" at the same time as a sticky little kid in a puffy nighttime diaper climbs into bed with me.

"Sun up!  Mom!  Sun up!  See!"  he exclaims as he pulls my eyelids back and turns my head toward the window to show me proof that the sun is indeed up.  "See.  Sun.  Up!"

There was no denying it.  The sun was definitely up.  But this morning, at least, my body didn't want to be.

I sent my sticky wake up call off to the kitchen with his drippy toast and told him to go wash his hands.  Then I attempted to fall back asleep, trying to ignore the glaring sun and the stickiness all over me.

Soon the bedroom door opens again and Luke is toting a full gallon of milk, a sippy cup, and a lid.  "Mom, sun up.  Sun up NOW!" and tosses the gallon of milk on the bed with a thunk.  Luckily, the lid doesn't pop off.

All right, all right!  I'm up already!  Up to fill a sippy cup with milk.  Up to find honey all over my kitchen, a refrigerator hanging open, and a basketful of clean folded laundry dumped on a sticky floor.  An invigorating morning!  I'd love to go swimming, but don't dare leave my early riser awake alone in a house full of dreamers.

Last week I woke up to "Mom, hode dis!  Hode dis."  My back was turned to him, and I was still half asleep with my eyes closed when I absently-mindedly reached behind me to hold whatever it was Luke needed me to hold so he could climb into my bed.  I discovered real quick what it was I was supposed to hold when ice water poured down my back, not in a sippy cup apparently.  Yikes.  Talk about a wake up call!  I hopped up out of bed as fast as a fireman with a midnight alarm. Luke was standing there watching me with a huge grin on his face.

"Sun up, Mom," like he is sharing some terrific news, "Sun UP!"