It’s my turn already? Uggg, I just… Okay. Sheesh. There. I close my eyes. Take a deep breath, and try not to think. It’s okay, no biggie.
Beep, beep, beep!
I slam press hard. I’m not ready for this. No worries, it’s fine…
Beep, beep, beep!
Goodness, I KNOW it’s my turn, I’m just not feeling it. It’s hump day. Two more to go.
Beep, beep, beep!
I just fell asleep after my 3:00 a.m. jolt out of slumber.
Why?
We go back and forth in five minute increments until 6:10. My eye pillow flops to the floor at my last attempt to slam the alarm clock, but instead I turn it off. I should’ve just set the thing for 6:15 a.m.
I get out of bed and don’t even look back at the sleep I left behind. It left me at 3:00, but I gladly took it back with open arms, reconciling my frustration and sinking deep into delicious rest that’s cut too short with my day job’s wake-up call.
In December, my mom stayed with me for two weeks to help me as I recovered from surgery. When I say help, it means she made sure I didn’t get up and break doctor’s orders, cooked all of the things with my husband, and cleaned everything that maybe didn’t need cleaning. Every morning, after mini-me got to school, we sat at the kitchen table and had coffee.
Morning coffee chats across the table typically revolved around whether or not we needed extra coffee, updates with my sisters, a good morning from my 20 year old as he headed off to work, toast or breakfast tacos, a chat with my dad who was home alone. In two short weeks, I grew accustomed to cafecito with Mom. We had one more chat before my husband dropped her off at the airport to return home.
Winter break gave me about three extra weeks of down time. When she returned home, we continued our morning cafecito dates via Face Time. I’d hear my phone ping: “Cafecito?”
“Hold on! I just got up. Give me 10 minutes.”
The coffee gets started, I pull my hair into its morning ponytail and retrieve my laptop. The screen is bigger. Coffee steaming, I bring it to the table and start the call. We chat. Dad pops in to say hi before he goes out for his morning run. Mom shakes her head because we know it’s too cold for him to go out, but it’s pointless. Bundled up, he goes anyway.
We continued these cafecito dates every morning until I returned to work in January. I don’t know why we didn’t do this before; Face Time is something we were already using. Getting accustomed to that morning rhythm helped us establish a new way to check in. Now it’s on weekends, sometimes Saturday and Sunday, sometimes on one of the two days.
We chatted again this morning, discussing a pan dulce* flavored coffee I sent her last week. “It would be so much better with a concha, but I’m going gluten-free for Lent.”
“Oh just eat whatever you want and don’t worry about it,” she reassures.
It’s a seasonal flavor, but I’ll stock up on what I can find in the clearance section. No big plans for the weekend, but at least the wind has calmed down where she lives. The Texas panhandle is notorious for windstorms that will kick up the dust nonstop for several consecutive days.
“You remember my friend…?”
“I saw the obituary for…I thought she looked familiar.”
“Hold on, your dad wants to say hi.”
“I don’t know why she doesn’t want me to…” Dad starts.
And so it goes.
Saying goodbye a few times, our conversation doesn’t seem to end. Either one of us will interject something on our way out of the call and we wind up talking for another fifteen minute chunk.
My second cup of coffee is nearly empty, so I know it’s time to get on with life on my side of the screen and let her get on with hers. She has my niece’s birthday party to attend.
“Have a slice of cake for me!”
“Sure will.”
The call ends and I close my computer. I’m looking forward to spring break so we can meet for cafecito every morning.
*Pan dulce is Mexican sweet bread, or pastries, many of us enjoy dunking into our cafecito (coffee).
I have always set two alarms. One for 5:30 a.m. and one for 6:15 a.m. I figured out the latest I can get up, fly by the seat of my pants on a jeans and school t-shirt day, is 6:30 a.m. I have to skip my morning pages, although I don’t like doing that, scald my throat glugging my coffee, sweep in whatever food fits into my lunch bag, and get going. I can make it to work on time and look (mostly) normal. This isn’t ideal, but having tried it a few times, it’s acceptable.
Recently, I’ve (sort of) given up my morning alarm clock. Most nights I still toss and turn, but it’s been so much better. What has worked is setting the alarm for that latest possible jump out of bed our you’ll be so late time. My I’ve-hit-the-snooze-button-for-an-entire-hour-it’s-time-to-suck-it-up-and-get-out-of-bed-already time. One alarm. 6:30 a.m. I wake up at 5:00 and sometimes go back to sleep. I wake up at 5:15 and sometimes go back to sleep. I wake up at 5:50 and decide not to go back to sleep. It’s almost like I’m hitting the snooze button without the annoyance of an alarm clock beeping. Except it is annoying. But it isn’t a heart stopping I’m going to rip that thing out of the wall annoying.
If I start tossing and turning in the middle of the night, rather than counting the number of hours of sleep I haven’t had, I tell myself I can “sleep in” until 6:30. All will be well with the world. On most days, I wake up a little past 5:30 and get up without any snooze button calculations. I turn off the alarm so it doesn’t wake my husband while I’m getting ready, even though he has an amazing ability to sleep through it. This is a much calmer process. I’ve finally learned how to wake up without an alarm. Sort of.
finds us dodging each other
bumping almost shoulder to shoulder
stepping over a wet towel
or bunched up pajamas
if it's a bad morning,
we'll argue
if it's a good morning,
we'll argue a little less
"clean up the toothpaste worms from the sink"
I remind her
for the hundredth time
"I KNOW!"
she snatches the brush
before I can get to it
so I plug in the hair dryer instead
I decide to let the exasperation
and tone roll off
not. worth. it.
I wear my thick-skinned fur coat
24/7
grit my teeth,
breathe in,
breathe out
and carry on
with my morning
"this eye looks good
but why is this eye
just NOT working?!"
a white washcloth smudges off
a crooked layer of eyeliner
along with a few tears
she doesn't want me to see
I lean in, mascara wand
trying to make some magic
happen for my own eyes
I don't have time
to smudge it off
"how? how can you
put on mascara
without opening your mouth?"
I continue applying my face
she continues applying hers,
sneaking a glance at my
expertise
with a mascara wand
"I've been doing this longer
than you've been alive"
she leans in with her own wand
mouth wide open
satisfied,
she steps back
I look at our reflection
and try not to think
about the days
I braided her hair
in front of this mirror
and she'd want to help
with my makeup
It’s another Saturday morning. I’m supposed to be sleeping in. I should be sleeping in. Sleep has a hate-hate relationship with me. I have a love-hate relationship with it. Love it, but hate it because I don’t ever seem to get enough. I try, but my body won’t have it. So, I should be sleeping.
Instead, I got up at 5:30. If I keep my eyes closed and take long deep breaths, I can go back to sleep. Nope. Not working. Maybe if I go to the bathroom, I won’t think about going while I’m trying to go back to sleep and that might help. I grab at the air in front of me, remembering my opened suitcase is still at the foot of the bed and I left my shoes somewhere on my right. I make it there and back to bed.
Breathe in, breathe out. What do I need to do today? What’s one more for-me thing I can squeeze in before Monday’s bleary-eyed wake up call to go back to work? I should be sleeping, but my brain is chatting, loudly. And it has jumped on my chest wanting to ponder the universe like a toddler freshly awake, yanking me out of bed. Wanting to play. Wanting pancakes. Just five more minutes…
Nope. Not having it. Body is done with sleep even though it didn’t need as much as I wanted to give it. I get up. The house rests in the deep silence of morning. Still dark outside. Cold. I make my coffee, adding extra cinnamon. I pop a slice of sourdough bread from my favorite bakery into the toaster. Put away last night’s clean dishes while the last bit of coffee gurgles into my cup. I get to my end of the kitchen table, my make-shift writing space. I open my notebook and start my daily three pages of writing. Not usually anything good, just a space to let out all of those thoughts that dragged me out of bed.
What do I do with the rest of the morning? No one is up to start demanding things for me. Not even the dog wants to be let out.
A walk?
It’s still dark. Too cold.
So, wear a jacket.
I’m going to they gym in a while.
Laundry?
Too loud.
Another cup of coffee?
Maybe later.
Go back to bed, then.
I’m not sleepy.
I hear cars in the distance, the neighborhood yawns awake. The sky starts to blink open, morning light appears out of nowhere. I’m dressed for the gym so I’m not tempted to stay home.
I’m not a morning person, but these few hours were nice today. When I try to get some early quiet time, it backfires, so I’ve stopped trying. Sleep got me out of bed early today so I could play with a little bit of me time.
Nerds Beget Nerds 