Waking up

This morning was a wonderful waking up experience, despite the reality of getting up to go to work. It was so different than a normal day that my memory of it is full of soft golden light.

"Solitude" by Rosie Hardy - borrowed from her photostream on Flickr

My memory views as if it were a movie filmed through a sheer veil where all objects are haloed in a dreamy light. Let me explain why it was such an extraordinary morning.

Normal weekday morning:

The alarm goes off at 5:30 to wake me up and let me know that I have a half hour to start to stir around. The alarm goes off at 5:50 as a warning to seriously consider starting to get up. The alarm goes off at 6:00 to say that it is now time to get up. The alarm goes off at 6:30 to tell me that I should be heading out the door.

I try to get up by the time the 6:00 alarm goes off, or at least by 6:10. I then tell my husband that he needs to get up to take the dogs out because they have inevitably heard me get up and are starting to get antsy. Two of the dogs have small bladders. He responds that he's getting up and will either roll over or not move at all, but never tries to get up. He will lay there for another10 minutes, usually falling back to sleep until I tell him he has to get up and take the dogs out. He usually groans and says that he's getting up again or just ignores me.

At this point the dogs are starting to get hysterical because they have to go out and I am trying to jump in the shower as I have to get ready for work and then leave in 15 minutes. So I end up yelling at him to get his butt out of bed and take the dogs out. Sometimes I will go in to the room and rip the covers off of him and pinch him as motivation.

All in all, it's a horribly stressful and irritating way to start the day having to deal with my husband like he's a child needing to get up for school. I always end up leaving late, and he makes me angry with his refusal to get up and do what he's supposed to before he goes to work. My husband doesn't have to be at work until 7:30 and we live five minutes from his workplace. Though I try to get him up in time to take care of the dogs (I take care of the cats in the morning) and get ready himself, I know that 4 out of 5 days a week that he is late to work.

This glorious morning:

I told Zach last night that if he wanted to bring the dogs upstairs to sleep in the room with us that he would have to get up the first time I told him to in the morning, no exceptions. He didn't want to agree to that and said he would try. I didn't budge and refused to allow the dogs upstairs until he agreed. The reason why I was so set on having his agreement is that the dogs have to make it all the way downstairs and through the house to get outside in the morning if they sleep overnight in our room. Their crate downstairs is right next to the door. With two little bladders among the three dogs, I always worry about them not being able to hold it until they get outside. I worry from experience.

This morning was the best waking up experience on a weekday that I have ever had with my husband. The alarm went off the first time and he rolled over to snuggle with me. The alarm went off the second time and in tandem we pulled the covers off of ourselves and got out of bed. I started to get ready for work and he went downstairs with the dogs to let them out. When I got downstairs there was coffee waiting for me in my travel mug. My husband made it just the way I like it, with lots of cream, and had it ready to pick up and head out the door with. It was a wonderful start to my day.

We said our goodbyes like always, but I kissed him a few extra times. I can't explain the difference it made on my day to have such a wonderful morning. The day seemed to sail by smoothly, and I was warmed through and through by the memories of it for the entire day.

I wish that there was a button responsible for the success of this morning so that I could push it every night before going to bed, like programming the coffee maker. I can't expect to have the same experience tomorrow morning, but I can always hope.

Image from kilonad on Flickr