A lthough we might not be a match made in heaven, I would say my beloved spouse and I are perfect for each other.
I tear things apart and he fixes them. I cook and he eats it. He’s mastered the art of pretending to listen while I talk and learned the appropriate responses when I ask him if my jeans make my derriere look fat.
It just doesn’t get any better than that.
One area of contention that still exists after many years of marriage, however, is that he’s a morning person and I am not.
He likes to wake up before the sun. Worse yet, he wakes up happy, energetic, and full of vim and vigor — traits I despise and personally don’t experience until late afternoon, if ever.
He sets his alarm to wake him up with a news report that’s barely above a whisper. He hops out of bed and sings his way into the kitchen, where he makes his coffee with bliss.
He then does jumping jacks and cartwheels into the closet to pull on clothes and get ready for the work day before he returns to the foot of the bed to see if I want to join him. The man makes constant attempts to mold me into a morning person and has tried various tactics for waking me in the predawn hours. There’s his early morning whistle, his Jack LaLanne routine, and the clever placement and implementation of floodlights.
Meanwhile, being a woman of stubborn nature, I snuggle under the blankets and pretend he doesn’t exist. I’ve learned to ignore the way he claps his hands and asks me if I’m up for the day. I manage to keep my eyes shut tight as he fires up his air compressors, and can even swallow the panic that I feel as he asks me if I’ve paid the trash bill .
Thanks to my resilience and determination, he will eventually give up and go back to his coffee, as I mentally prepare myself for the blaring of my alarm clock in an hour or two.
When the dang thing goes off with a sound reminiscent of a blow horn, I respond with a series of slaps and punches in an attempt to find the “snooze.” Oh, how I loathe mornings.
It just isn’t right.
Being married to a morning man is one thing. But his early-morning traits have rubbed off on our precious Little Charlie who nowadays wakes up at 5:45 a.m. sharp.
Together they share a ritual that consists of watching ESPN, consuming morning beverages and chuckling like a couple of little old men about the lesser people of the world who like to sleep their lives away.
At or around 7 o’clock, I’ve grown weary of smacking my alarm clock and reluctantly throw back the covers. I then sit on the edge of the bed and wish for Saturday as I rub the sleep out of my eyes.
With a look that’s complete with a tad bit of morning drool, hair standing straight up on end and oversized jammies, I crawl to the kitchen in hopes of some form of caffeine.
“She did get up!” Charlie exclaims with amazement each and every day. His hair is combed, his teeth are brushed and his backpack is fully stocked and ready by the back door.
“Can you believe it?” asks my beloved spouse. “Why, it’s nothing short of a miracle!” Then the two of them chuckle in feigned disbelief.
They’ve already planned out their day, discussed the weekend’s football games and come up with several plans to boost the economy.
“What have you gotten done so far today, Mom?” Charlie asked yesterday morning as he stifled a chuckle.
Not wanting to match wits with the morning crowd or debate with them ad nauseam, I turned on my tired heels and trudged out of the kitchen.
“Where is she going?” Charlie asked of his father.
“Yes,” echoed his father, “Lori, don’t you want to spend some time with us?”
“I don’t think so,” I responded as I headed back to the bedroom. “Perhaps I’d better go back to bed and sleep on it.”
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.