In this phase of my life I’m a morning person.
It hasn’t always been the case. When the children were small we’d have similar bedtimes. Stories read and the house tidied I’d drop into bed and be comatose before my head hit the pillow. At 2am I’d wake with no show of getting back to sleep and rather than lie and become more annoyed by the MOTH snoring heavily and having such a lovely sleep I got up.
The hours between 2 and 4am became ‘my time’; peace, quiet and blessed solitude. Just me and the cat. I so knew how Momma Elephant felt in the kids’ book: Five Minutes Peace by Jill Murphy, see I even remember the author’s name. Heaven was the two hours when the house belonged to me, my time was my own, I got to drink the entire cup of tea, and how about that, the last sip was even still hot. Thoughts came and went with the ease of uncluttered head space and I could ponder my lot in uninterrupted solitude. For years it was one of the best times of day. It was a time when I could paint, sew, do craft all without help or criticism. I made all the family Christmas gifts tween the hours of 2 and 4 in the morning. And when they were wrapped and tagged made more to sell to cover the costs of our Christmas camping holiday. The down side was the short sleep between 4am and 6am when the first child woke. Thank heavens for the afternoon nap.
As the children became more independent and went to bed later so did I but now I slept through the night. That was the start of my becoming a morning person. I got up with the children, made sure breakfast wasn’t fruit cake or biscuits (cruel mother) and that their lunch boxes were packed with nutritious foods and healthy snacks. Once they were off to school the housework completed, laundry out it was time to have that cuppa and a sit down. Good times. While I preferred the mornings I did late nights too but the consequences weren’t as productive.
The best start to the day for me is to be up early to get my new exercise regime completed, have a swim and get dressed. The mix of activity within a routine invigorates me and sets me up for a good start. It also gets my brain into gear and preparing for whatever it is I have to get done in that day. A sluggish start to the day means I don’t engage with any task until almost lunch time by which stage it takes the rest of the day, even overtime, to catch up. It’s not worth it. Really.
I vaguely remember being a night owl, back in early adult years. We’d party (read drink) the night away, pass out or fall down and asleep wherever we happened to drop. Waking up the next afternoon seemed appropriate and if it was the weekend we started all over again. To think that once I had the stamina and capacity to do 24 hours without sleep and get up on Monday morning and go to work makes me want to weep. Where did that energy go?
But here I am tonight tapping this out when I really should be in bed. I don’t do ‘refreshed’ on less than eight hours sleep, so tomorrow’s not looking too good.
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