Monday, November 24, 2014

Let's be thankful for mornings.

Thanksgiving, of course, makes us think about the things that we are thankful for. 

I'm thankful for my life: and everyone and everything in it. I could write an endless run-on sentence of thankfulness. But I probably wouldn't really be telling you anything you couldn't surmise for yourself.

So instead of counting my blessings, I'm choosing to find the good in something that I didn't recognize the good in before:

Mornings.

I can't do mornings the way I'd like. I'd love to jump out of bed, ready for the day, and immediately be able to tackle my children with energy. I'd love to spring from my bed: shower, unload the dishwasher, put in a load of laundry, do a morning sweep of the floors, all while preparing a nice hot breakfast for my family.

But I can't. I just can't. It's exhausting. Instead my mornings are:

6:30- Alarm goes off: an alarm I set the previous night. I was probably inspired by whatever book I was reading/Netflix show I was bingeing on and stayed up way too late. I always go to bed thinking, tomorrow is going to be amazing. I'm totally going to rock at life tomorrow. I'm actually going to shower in the morning and blow dry my hair for once. I'll even have time for makeup. The drop-off lady at school won't know what hit her. And then that damn alarm sounds, and I'm like eh, maybe tomorrow. And I turn it off.

Ultimately, I get up when I have to, which is usually when my husband is trying to leave the house for work without a baby or small child attached to him. The remaining three of us scramble to get fed, dressed, and out the door in time to get to school/speech/etc. Sidenote: coats, hats, gloves, shoes and socks are especially difficult in the mornings. By the time I dress child #2, child #1 has removed most everything I've already wrestled him into, and it's just a really long cycle. Really, long because I probably didn't manage coffee yet.

But you know who does rock mornings?? My children.

The moment they hit consciousness they are wide-eyed, balls of energy. Energy that can't be contained in those tiny bodies.

Henry will likely have a series of unrelated, unending questions, more so than any other time in the day. They must build up in his little head while he sleeps, and he can just now get them out. Anything he wants he asks while jumping. Please can we!? Please can we!? Please can we has pancakes/play dinosaurs/get monsters???

And William seems to wake up thinking that he didn't successfully explore every drawer and cabinet yesterday, so he dives head first into that task, opening anything he can open, and pulling everything out. I can only imagine what goes through his head: This box of pasta? Miraculous! Like nothing I've ever seen! Let's dump it on the floor and examine every glorious piece! Yes! Glorious! But what is this? Cupcake liners! I pull one out and there is still another one to pull out! And another one! And another one! It could be a tiny hat! Or a tiny boat! Or... oh! I bet I can rip this into more pieces than that napkin I shredded yesterday. He's the tiniest tornado I've ever known.

So lately, I've been wondering: How can they wake up every single day filled with such excitement, while I'm silently asking: can everybody just stop talking and be still for 10 minutes? I need to pull myself together.

And I think I have an answer: Their world, everything and everyone in it, is still so new to them. Henry didn't know yesterday that Grammy is Mommy's mommy. Or that a wrench is a wrench. Or that a pilgrim is a pilgrim and not a cowboy. 

And William probably doesn't remember having ever seen snow. So he needs to sit at that window: Face, nose, snot, spit and hands smeared against it and take a solid ten minutes to squeal, shriek and check it out.

And so on an average Monday, while my day likely entails things I've already seen and done hundreds of times before, these precious littles still have so much to discover and learn.

So I'm going to make an effort to be more grateful for mornings and the childish excitement that goes with it. I'm going to try to wake up excited for them. Because really, shouldn't I be absolutely thrilled that I'm getting to rediscover the magic that is this world, every day-- through my children?

1 comment:

  1. That's a great perspective. I'll try to keep it in mind when dealing with my girls. As much as it feels like being mad at them in the morning, I think in reality I'm envious.

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