I’ve always loved (and needed) my sleep. I guess the converse of that is I hate to get out of bed. I was so horrid about it as a child that my mom brought me breakfast in bed for years and years. Eventually, my dad decided to put an end to my princess upbringing and forced me to join the living at the breakfast table.
I know no one will feel sorry for me, but it was a traumatic experience!
We had a wood-burning stove that would die out during the night, so it would be freezing in the morning. (I know it’s
Now, I know I needed to get up, but couldn’t there have been a happy medium?
I would then stagger down the hall to the couch, where my younger sister and I would kick one another, fighting for position. Pity anyone or anything that crossed my path on the way to the breakfast table. I once did battle with a balloon that had lost its helium. I’m pretty sure I won.
My antics and appearance (My hair would stick straight up) was a great source of amusement to the rest of family. I would glance up from my cereal bowl and catch them snickering at me. My attempts to scowl would usually bring howls of laughter. Sigh, it’s hard being a princess.
I’m much better these days once I’m out of bed; however, I still don’t like getting up. In fact, my very responsible elementary school daughter sets her alarm, wakes up her younger brother, and then comes down to wake me up, a routine we’ve had for years. I reward her with breakfast on the couch, and, no matter how much it sticks up, I never laugh at her hair!
*Note: My grandmother spent some time with us and started calling me "Morning glory." She was the only one who was able to put a smile on my face before 8 a.m.