I hate getting up in the morning - and am most definitely not a morning person. I'm not one to leap out of the bed the moment my eyes open. Rather, I like to burrow in, slowly let my mind come awake and pass over from dreamland into reality.
Despite that, I must admit that I like it when I'm the first one up. I'd hoped to sleep in a bit today - but a certain little boy crawled into bed with us sometime in the wee hours of the morning - and no matter how sweet it is to feel him curl around me, I just can't sleep with there's a body fidgeting and wiggling and rolling around right beside me. Couple that with the geriatric cat who was snoring LOUDLY at the foot of our bed, and sleep became impossible.
So I'm awake. My house is quiet right now. The only things I hear are the sounds that make this house a home -
the thermostat clicking on and off down the hall
the clock my mother gave Deonne and I for our first wedding anniversary steadily ticking
the dripping of coffee into the pot
my grandparent's 'grandmother' clock ticking and chiming in the living room
the occasional sigh and stretch from one of the cats
random nonsensical words from the children as they toss in their sleep
It's going to be a busy day, that's for sure. A visit to the local farmer's market early this morning. James' late morning soccer game. Lunch of some sort. Then an unplanned afternoon and evening - with several options on the horizon (hopefully none of which include the 14 piles of laundry that have accumulated in various places throughout the house.)
So I really appreciate this quiet time. This time to gather my thoughts. Sip my first cup of coffee.
Perhaps I should try to rise earlier and make a habit out of this... oh, who am I kidding. I like sleep way too much.