Well, January has passed us by and so has the time of year when people like to make all sorts of resolutions to change their bad habits. Sure, I could stand to get on a diet to get rid of my chins, to quell the small fire that ignites between my thighs when they furiously rub together and about half my butt (still having some to spare) but then again, it keeps me warm and it provides a soft pillow for my husband to rest his sweet head--why on earth get rid of that?
Besides the chub, if there is one thing I'd love to change about myself it would be to miraculously turn into a morning person. I seriously hate, hate, hate to wake up in the morning. I love everything about being asleep--my warm, cozy bed, my warm, cozy pj bottoms and no bra, my warm, cozy sleeping partner and my lovely dreams. If there was one good reason to have all these chil'rens, it's so that I wouldn't have to go out and get a full-time job that would require me to wake up at an unholy hour everyday. I can handle the lactating boobs, the midnight feedings, the hemmorhoids and the tantrums--just don't ask me to wake up before the hour of 7 am.
When I was a little girl, I remember having the stankest attitude on my way to school every morning. And no wonder. My mom had to resort to many tactics just to get me up. She would yell at me to wake up, threaten death, she would turn on the light, shake the bed, rip open the blinds, she'd yank the covers off me (which I absolutely despised and caused me to plan mommy murder at the tender age of eight), and then threaten to splash water on me. When I finally did wake up, beware. I was pure evil. My face would be screwed up into this really ugly, moody little face with these crazy, bushy eyebrows. No one could talk to me. Can you say at-ti-tuuude? I spent my entire childhood with crooked chongos (pigtails) because my mom would viciously yank on them to get me to behave. It wasn't until I had something to eat and was walking into school that I felt somewhat decent again. Then again, by that time it was the more humane hour of 9 a.m or so.
Sure, there are occasions when I willingly allow my body to rise before the hour of 7am. A doctor's appointment, an early church service, a yard sale, Disneyland, taking off for our yearly camping trip, a shopping excursion, Christmas...okay, for those events I can do it. Nevermind that I get an upset stomach for some reason and I am ready to wrap up the day by 2 pm. But waking up early everyday for the sake of waking up early? I just can't seem to wrap my mind around it. Michael says, "Think of everything that you can accomplish if you woke up early!" And in my mind I think, yes, think of everything...aaaaaaalllllll the more work I can squeeze into the day.
I have walked down this motherhood road long enough to know that my life would fare much better had I just been born a morning person. I could wake up while it was still dark out and have me time. I could work out, do some reading, work on my bible study while having a cup of herbal tea. I could shower and dress so I could look like one of those peppy moms at the park. I wouldn't have that breathless feeling of being behind all day long. And finally, I could crack the whip on my kids and run a very scheduled, tight ship much to my mother's delight. I could.
But it's so, so very hard. I am a night person. I've always been a night person. Just because you grow up and get married and have a bunch of babies doesn't mean you automatically change your wiring. But I have one consolation. Why is it that old folks get up at the crack of dawn to do...nothing? But wake up at the crack of dawn they must. Well, I can't say they get up early to do nothing, but they certainly don't have to get up early. I've never met an old person sleep in late. It's like the older you get the less sleep you need. And the more you like to water your yard, drink coffee, read the paper and tuck your shirt in your pants. Well, February is my birthday month and I am definitely getting older.
So, there is hope for me. There is always hope.