I hate mornings.
Hate is a strong word, so let me clarify.
I hate mornings.
It doesn't matter when I go to bed: 8 pm or 4 am... that 7:00 alarm goes off too soon. Darren is laughing his head off right now, because I NEVER get up with the 7:00 alarm. Here's my confession: during the school year, he gets up first and wakes the kids, then gets their breakfast. Usually he's up way earlier than that for his morning run. Freak of nature, he is.
Once the boys are chowing down on Cap'n Crunch, he heads back upstairs and reminds me that it's morning time. I sometimes hear him, I sometimes don't. Check that. I always hear him, I rarely care. Most of the time, I can't bring myself to move or even open an eyelid. Mornings make me want to say bad words and hurl insults at fluffy kittens and stomp on freshly bloomed tulips. I lie there for a solid 10 minutes before I can will myself to snarl and kick the sheet off. During that ten minutes, I'm concocting amazingly creative excuses for why I can't get out of bed today. Sometimes, I come so close to using crazy excuses (I'm sorry, I can't come in to work because a rogue raccoon broke into my house last night and destroyed everything we own and ate my cat and stole all my Christopher Radko...) that when crazy things DO happen - and they do happen - I wonder if people will believe me. I fantasize about sleeping another 10 minutes.
By now, Darren's had his shower and is gently shaking my shoulder with the end of a broomstick, careful not to get too close to Sleeping Beauty lest she wakes up as The Incredible Hulk and rips his arms out of his sockets. I open an eye, but only a slit. I scowl. I burrow my frows. I swim through the fog until the red numbers on the clock come into focus, then I growl at them for it. I plant my feet on the hardwood, stab my right eye with the left earpiece of my glasses, then stumble half-baked-from-sleep to the bathroom where I again growl at Darren for good measure. He says something along the lines of, "Good morning, sleepyhead." In turn, I tell him to choke on his toothbrush.
I don't speak. I don't smile. I go through the motions until everyone's out the door. My children are cautious around me, and leave a wide berth. I usually drive, but I drive like an old lady. Sometimes, Darren says, "Are you sleep driving again? 'Cause the speed limit's thirty on this street, and you're going... 12."
By the time I've been awake for an hour or so, I return to human form, and I'm Happy Me for the rest of the day. GO GO GO GO GO GO GO! Until that alarm goes off the next morning. And then....
This song is hysterical. The first time I heard it, I was in the car and I cracked up laughing, out loud, all by myself. It was written for ME, y'all. Every single morning, I don't feel like doing anything. Nothing at all. I came home later and YouTubed it, and the video is hilarious. Those monkey suits crack me right up. At least tonight, they do. Tomorrow morning, I'm likely to tell them to .... well, you get the idea.