Comparison-contrast
Early in the morning, around 5:30 a.m., a terrible noise shouts out from the right side of my bed, awakening me from my wonderful slumber. As my hand reaches over to quiet the source of this noise, my demon alarm clock, I realize that, once again, it is another day and I am faced with the dreadful morning, the worst part of my day.
With the exception of my youngest daughter, Nadine, most of the people in my life are morning people. My grandmother and I would get into debates about how crisp the morning air is, or how the day is longer. Honestly, those discussions drove me crazy! Or, my mother, for instance, would run into my room, beaming as if the sun had touched her itself, and throw open my curtains singing "Francie-Maria....time to get up!" Talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed! Could this be the root of my morning hatred? Brian, my boyfriend, would wake without an alarm clock. He said that anytime past 7:30 a.m. is too late to sleep and even if he wanted to sleep later, his body wouldn't have allowed it. He attributes it to growing up on a horse ranch. Whatever. Since we've been together, I've slowly changed that idea; I've got him up to 9:00 a.m. now.
The arguments that I get from Brian, my mom, and my grandma
are truly valid. Just the other day I was discussing this with
Brian and told him that, yes, when I do wake in the morning the
air is crisp and fresh, the sky is a wondrous work of art, and
the singing of the birds is beautiful. Even Grandma saying that
you have more time to do things is indeed a fact. But mine, I
feel is just as true.
I guess, if you referenced psychology, my argument would fall
into Freud's theory of regression.
Have you ever laid in bed in the morning and felt as if you
were part of the bed? I've always enjoyed the soothing way the
pillow contours around my face and the warm embrace of the blankets
wrapped around my body; it's just so dreamy! But those are feelings
that I will not have again until I slip back into my bed and return
to dreamland that same night. Freud would probably say that I
am regressing into my mother's womb, and frankly, I would believe
that.
But, in all reality, I must give it up. Brian, my Mom, and Grandma
are right; there are too many tasks to take care of. So every
morning, after I've laid there until the last possible second,
I get up, get dressed, and begin my day. After all, I have four
children in my home, three, whom are playing quietly, and one,
Nadine, who is dreaming away, that need to start their day as
well. But unlike my mother, I sit on the bed that Nadine is on,
run my fingers through her hair, and whisper, "Hey Sweet-Pea,
it's time to get up".
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Questions? Brian McKinney (bmckinne@home.com)