Monday, November 21, 2005

Oh, What A Beautiful Morning

My mornings:

The first person to wake up is my husband. My husband getting out of bed in turn wakes me up, because he is unable to reach the bedroom door without fee, fye, fo, fumming his way across the room. This in turn wakes up the dog, who spends several minutes scratching herself and as a result, jingling the three hundred tags around her neck. My husband and the dog are their own chorus of the Messiah in the mornings.

If I happen to get out of bed first, and try to get the dog to follow ME out of the room, she gets an attitude. First, she'll refuse to look at me with both eyes, and open one eye halfway as if she is assessing my sanity. Then she gets up and goes over to my husband's side of the bed, and starts licking his arm. You can practically hear her whispering in his ear: "That bitch is up again. Haven't we gone over this? I want to go downstairs with YOU."

If he fails to rouse, she jumps onto the bed, rests her head on my pillow, and closes her eyes, as if to wish me well if I want to be running around the house, but she and my husband aren't yet ready to get up, thank you very much. So I am not allowed to take the dog out in the morning.

Right after my husband wakes up, my son's alarm clock goes off. On a good day. Many days his alarm clock is me yelling that he forgot to set his alarm clock. My son is 175 pounds. That's a lot of sound climbing down the ladder of his loft bed and landing on the floor. By this time, I am not in need of any alarm clock of my own.

My husband and son pass each other on the staircase, my son to go about banging kitchen cabinets and dishes in search of breakfast, and my husband to shave his face with a razor which sounds exactly like a swarm of bees.

Kisses and hugs - I make my son hold an outfit review before he leaves. This serves two I can tell the police what he was wearing because I'm paranoid, and also so I can veto anything which will make the school believe he is about to release his next rap album and be interviewed by Vibe.

I don't go downstairs until they are both gone, and then the first thing I have to do is turn off every single light on the main and basement levels of the house, and send back the thank you gifts from the electric company. My son won't admit that he's afraid of the dark, yet it somehow takes five lamps and twice that many overhead lights for him to see his fruit loops.

Half the time, one or both of them have left the front door unlocked, apparently for the convenience of strangers who want to abduct me naked from the shower while the dog snores peacefully on the bed.

Finally, after one and a half episodes of "Designing Women", which will always be about the oppression of southern women by everyone else, I make it into my clothes and out of the door (generally in that order). I listen to WTOP news on the radio, and thank the Lord for another morning where the coffee machine perked on time, the boy didn't miss his bus, and the dog came back inside as soon as I called her in from her last tinkle of the morning. And I count the days until Saturday, when no alarms go off, I can sleep in, we aren't funding Dominion Power, and the door is safely and securely locked.

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