Reverb11, no. 1 | Begin: How do you begin each day? How does it set the stage for what follows? Is there anything about this beginning you'd like to change?
Each morning, I groan, and I ache, and I might even complain. And, I snuggle closer to my husband and try my damnedest to keep him pressed against me in bed for as long as possible. He's an early riser, as am I to a degree. But, while I like to wake up before the sun and then linger and lounge a bit, he is very much the get-up-and-go type. When he is awake in the morning, he is awake. There have been quite a few past instances in which I've gotten huffy and weepy and ruined the morning for both of us because Wolfman has popped out of bed as soon as his eyes opened, brushed his teeth, and left the bedroom to start coffee and his day. Leaving me to wallow in half-awakedness alone, which is less romantic and more lazy. That rarely happens now, after two years of marriage, however, there are quite a few more wrestling matches to get me up and out of bed. I don't mean that as a euphemism for something more tawdry, not entirely. I mean literal wrestling of limbs and pulling away of covers, and occasionally a foot to the butt to push me over the edge of the bed.
Once I am actually out of bed, though, I am fairly quick and bright about my morning routine. There are pets to feed, there is coffee to brew. I braid Wolfman's hair for him on his roasting days. I try to convince Wolfman to eat breakfast, and when that inevitably fails, I make a breakfast for myself--usually some sort of bread, some sort of sliced fruit, or grapenuts with almond milk and dried fruit, or I might fry up a couple eggs. Every once in a while Wolfman will do the whole skillet-caboodle and I'll have the works. I'm big on the morning meal, though, is the point. I'd no sooner skip breakfast than walk out the door naked.
And then, after breakfast, if there is time, we walk Lunchbox around the block. Sometimes there's no time, admittedly, and I guiltily stand with the dog out in the yard, promising him an extra long walk when I get home. I wish I could say he doesn't seem to mind, but on rushed mornings he gives me such a reproachful look when he takes his cookie upon coming back inside.
If I want, or need, to change anything, it is the rate of my languid waking for the sake of my admonishing pup, yes, but for my own sake as well. For a couple months this summer, in order to tend to the garden (ultimately, a failure, but we can discuss this later) I was waking and actually getting out of bed with the first alarm, a little after 5 each morning--sometimes even beating Wolfman out of bed. I would find myself with something like an hour to spare, and after Wolfman left for work, I'd sit on my front porch with my cats and eat breakfast, and sip coffee (something I otherwise would have no time for), and enjoy the morning shade and coolness before the heat and humidity, sun and bugs took reign of the day. I loved having that time, and for those months, my entire outlook on life was different. I was calmer, and I was more motivated for the day ahead. I'd like to have that hour again.
Each morning, I groan, and I ache, and I might even complain. And, I snuggle closer to my husband and try my damnedest to keep him pressed against me in bed for as long as possible. He's an early riser, as am I to a degree. But, while I like to wake up before the sun and then linger and lounge a bit, he is very much the get-up-and-go type. When he is awake in the morning, he is awake. There have been quite a few past instances in which I've gotten huffy and weepy and ruined the morning for both of us because Wolfman has popped out of bed as soon as his eyes opened, brushed his teeth, and left the bedroom to start coffee and his day. Leaving me to wallow in half-awakedness alone, which is less romantic and more lazy. That rarely happens now, after two years of marriage, however, there are quite a few more wrestling matches to get me up and out of bed. I don't mean that as a euphemism for something more tawdry, not entirely. I mean literal wrestling of limbs and pulling away of covers, and occasionally a foot to the butt to push me over the edge of the bed.
Once I am actually out of bed, though, I am fairly quick and bright about my morning routine. There are pets to feed, there is coffee to brew. I braid Wolfman's hair for him on his roasting days. I try to convince Wolfman to eat breakfast, and when that inevitably fails, I make a breakfast for myself--usually some sort of bread, some sort of sliced fruit, or grapenuts with almond milk and dried fruit, or I might fry up a couple eggs. Every once in a while Wolfman will do the whole skillet-caboodle and I'll have the works. I'm big on the morning meal, though, is the point. I'd no sooner skip breakfast than walk out the door naked.
And then, after breakfast, if there is time, we walk Lunchbox around the block. Sometimes there's no time, admittedly, and I guiltily stand with the dog out in the yard, promising him an extra long walk when I get home. I wish I could say he doesn't seem to mind, but on rushed mornings he gives me such a reproachful look when he takes his cookie upon coming back inside.
If I want, or need, to change anything, it is the rate of my languid waking for the sake of my admonishing pup, yes, but for my own sake as well. For a couple months this summer, in order to tend to the garden (ultimately, a failure, but we can discuss this later) I was waking and actually getting out of bed with the first alarm, a little after 5 each morning--sometimes even beating Wolfman out of bed. I would find myself with something like an hour to spare, and after Wolfman left for work, I'd sit on my front porch with my cats and eat breakfast, and sip coffee (something I otherwise would have no time for), and enjoy the morning shade and coolness before the heat and humidity, sun and bugs took reign of the day. I loved having that time, and for those months, my entire outlook on life was different. I was calmer, and I was more motivated for the day ahead. I'd like to have that hour again.
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