I hate mornings

I hate it when some people talk and they say thing like “I just wake up every morning and the first thought I have is what a beautiful day it is.”  I hate mornings, and I feel bad about it sometimes. Why is my first thought always “make those damn birds shut up, I hate this, crap crap crap, why did God make the day start so early, 10 would have been just fine with me”? Then I roll over and stick in an earplug(yes, just one). This literally happens EVERY day at my house. And yes my kids have noticed. Shortly after Gentry was born I woke up in a sour mood, Grey was playing on the floor with my mom and as I walked into the room Grey looked at my mom  and said “shhh Nanny, Mommy needs her coffee”. Why would he say this you ask, because that’s part of our morning routine. I ask him everyday to just be quiet until I make some coffee.

I used to feel really bad about myself for this quality (until today). It’s not my kids, it’s not my husband, it’s not my life, I’ve always hated mornings. I can remember faking being sick in kindergarten. I can remember sneaking home from school in first grade, I can even remember elaberatly scaming my brother into thinking mom was taking me to school and vise versa (at the age of 12) and hiding in my bed until everyone left the house just so I could sleep until noon.

I know Micah hates this about me, he likes to get up sometime between 5 & 6 and read, eat, shower, and bike into work. This sound like torture to me. In our 7 years together Micah has probably eaten breakfast alone for 6 1/2 of those (I do feel bad about this).  When I started working at the gym he was all giddy about having breakfast together, he would wake up and cook me these wonderful meals and have them all spread out on the table when I woke up.

So I guess I’m just a schmuck sometimes (between 5am-10am)

Here’s what I did on the quilt last night.