Tuesday, September 24, 2013

so not a morning person: an essay of sorts



Just when I think mornings and I have come to an understanding, I have a morning like this morning.

I wake up and ohmahgoshholycowthisisnotokaybrrrrrr that autumn air came on fast and bit hard. So obviously, fear of frostbite in the forefront of my mind, I push the snooze button and wrap the blankets tightly around myself. I know technically the snooze button is hypothetically supposed to postpone getting up for 9 whole minutes, but this morning it felt like 2.5 seconds so I pushed the button again. And 2.5 seconds later I pushed it again. This continues for 45 minutes when I groggily came to terms with my fate and got up. The walk/run to the bathroom was dangerous and even though it is a very small distance from bed to shower I decided that since I was already suffering from severe frostbite I should probably opt for a bath to defrost my frigid limbs. This was not my wisest hour in that I had already postponed getting up and was now 45 minutes behind schedule. But my limbs! My frozen limbs!

Bath time is a wonderful time to do productive things like check Pinterest, so I decided to not break tradition. Soon enough I realized that it was the getting out of bed dilemma all over again, only I was going to have to brave the cold air soaking wet. Luckily I am sometimes on top of things and accidentally make smart decisions, and I had turned the bathroom into a sort of sauna steam room situation. So the bathroom was safe, the rest of the apartment was not. I got out of the bath and proceeded to try and find that perfect song to listen to while getting ready. You can't just start the day with any old song your shuffle decides to play for you. Then you might start the day with that Poison the Well album you bought when you were young and confused and then what kind of day is that? Ruined. "Where is that Portugal, the Man song? I know you're here somewhere. Oh there you are! Hurrah! I can now proceed to putting off blow drying my hair."

I really do not enjoy blow drying my hair. I wish I could say here that it's because I want my hair to be healthy and I don't like putting heat to my luscious locks. But no, morning Alyssa is just lazy. Suddenly I realize that the blow dryer might warm me up and I change my mind on the "I do not enjoy blow drying my hair" way of life. Which also speeds up my getting ready process (which really needs some speeding up at this point).

I hear a scream from the next room, not the usual happy-to-be-alive coo that I usually hear in the morning from that room, but a shriek. The kind of shriek that comes from a baby in pain. Sage is obviously hurting after the four shots he got yesterday. I look at the clock and have just enough time to get him dressed and into the car before we have to leave. I get him out of bed and carefully get him dressed, being mindful of his tender little legs. I hold him close to me for an extra second while he snuggles into my neck. Sometimes when you're not feeling good you just need your mom.  And if I can make time to Pinterest in the bathtub I can make time to hold a hurting little one for that much needed extra long hug.

I ran him to the car and started the heater (the heater! what kind of ludicrous is this!) and ran inside to grab our lunches and anything that had been forgotten. My purse was acting like some sort of Mary Poppins bag at this point as I piled in soup, a bag of almonds, dried apricots (for me) and leftover mac and cheese, applesauce, and cheese crackers (for Sage), along with baby shoes, work keys, hairspray, makeup, and an assortment of other things that I decided in a whirlwind of running out the door that I was sure I "needed" to get through the day. I was like the Tasmanian Devil if the Tasmanian Devil had a large side bag that he threw things in while he was whirling around.

When I run back out to my car I realize that I put my keys into the bottom of the bag before I threw everything in the world that was shiny in there. At least I thought there was a possibility they might have been in the bottom of the bag. They also might be somewhere in my apartment. So here I am standing at the front door about to possibly lock myself out with a bag that weighs about as much as Sage digging into my shoulder when the sprinklers come on. And in my infinite wisdom I am wearing sandals and a dress. In 40 degree crisp morning weather.

I run to my car to try and get out of the sprinklers, but the spout next to my car is broken making it so I'm standing in a small lake of ice water surrounding my car trying to ignore my frozen feet while I dig for my keys in my bag. All the while I have left the front door open knowing the possibility of my keys not being in the bag. Finally before I freeze all the way through (Alyssa-sicle?) I just dump my purse out in the passenger's seat of the car so that I can see my options clearly. No keys. Back through the sprinklers and into the apartment I go.

After more whirlwinding and more panicky running around as I tend to do when I'm late and can't find my keys, I see them sitting on my nightstand (what the?) and run back out the door, through the sprinklers, splash through the puddle to get to my car, into the car, thank Sage for being such a gentleman and waiting patiently while his mom runs around like a lunatic, and then find that Portugal, the Man song again because gosh dangit, at this point I need some life centering. Plus, Sage does this hands-in-the-air dance to that song when it comes on in the car that I needed to see before I had a full blown moment. Heater blasted on the setting designed for frozen toes. Thanks again for that setting, universe. Brilliant.

Once we're off and running everything turns around as it usually does. I hit green lights and hear good music and see little dancing arms in my rear-view mirror and all is okay. But that getting out of the house in the mornings thing is something I'm figuring out. I know that I should pack lunches the night before and I should have clothes laid out and I should get up the first time the alarm goes off, but Rome wasn't built in a day and all that. So we're working on it. Day by day. Morning by morning. Broken sprinkler by broken sprinkler.