Mornings. I used to love mornings. I was in every possible way a morning person. I have so many memories of starting my day throughout my twenty-one years of life.
I was a morning person even before I do remember. From my toddler years when my mother would wake up to my pajama clad self whispering "Mommy can I have opieloap (oatmeal) for breakfast?" to elementary grade home-schooler me who would set my alarm for 4:30 and hover in the bathroom under a nightlight with my school books spread before me. The goal was to be finished with school and downstairs sitting in front of our dining room picture window in time to watch the sun rise. The rest of the day would then be free to enjoy.
I have fond memories of joining daddy in the garage at six-thirty every weekday morning where we would stretch, lift weights, norditract, and jump rope.
There was a time when I was focused on extreme responsibility and before anyone else awoke I could be found in the kitchen washing dishes from the night before, fixing breakfast for my siblings, and then cleaning the kitchen again.
That morphed into a season when I slacked off on the responsibility side of things and simply spent an hour every morning reading, writing, and in prayer with my cup of tea or coffee within reach.
In more recent years I would get up and join mommy in listening to Greg Laurie as she fixed breakfast burritos for Daniel before she left to take him to work. I would eat the left overs, finish listening, then set out breakfast for my siblings before waking them up.
Mornings, oh how I loved mornings.
Marriage killed my mornings.
Somehow, on that glorious day of April 5th, as Wesley and I exchanged our vows and entered a lifetime commitment to and with one another, after nineteen years of morning love, every thing changed. The very first morning I woke up in our new home, our honey-moon over, I had no desire to start my day.
I think it comes from being a lone-creature-of-habit. Sure, my morning routine's had changed over the years as life changed around me but marriage threw an entirely foreign change in; another person. My family had been worked into my routines slowly over the years and out of practicality but living twenty-four seven with a person, sharing my mornings, had never been a part of the picture.
I love Wesley. I would love to love sharing my mornings with him. But, so far in our close to two years of marriage I have not found a way to do so.
In the beginning I would get up and pack his lunch and fix him breakfast but it was never my routine. I was fixing his breakfast and packing his lunch.
I was up for him.
The start of my morning wasn't mine.
Time went by and I was sick with pregnancy and I quit getting up all together. Months went by and I went back to trying. An alarm would go off, I'd get out of bed and again try packing his lunch. After he left I would try staying up and drinking a cup of tea, reading, and eventually I would fall back asleep in an early morning nap. So I quit getting up with him again; why get up and "start my day" when I fall back asleep mid morning?
As time goes by I miss my mornings more and more. So again, I'm going to try. This time around though I am going to once again try and make my mornings mine. When Wesley's alarm goes off I will try to get up and spend some time alone. While he is getting ready for work I will drink some tea, maybe write in my journal, and wake up. Then I hope together we can fix his lunch, have breakfast, and read our Bible's. Once he has left for work hopefully I will be able to stay awake and start in on projects, perhaps get some time in on the never ending braided rug.
Wesley spent a week out of town for work recently and that week I was able to start my mornings early and end my days each night feeling successful. That was one of the hardest parts of having him gone; realizing my mornings worked better with out him.
So I plan to change that. Whether he is in town working here at his store, or away, I am going to love mornings again.