I’ve never been a fan of rising early unless it was to catch a flight to Hawaii. I was always the kid that slept in on Saturday mornings. I always waited until the last moment to get out of bed to get ready for work. I loved lying abed.
However since my mom moved in I have found the early morning, all by myself with my coffee and my tablet, is treasure for my sanity. Hubby sleeps until 8 since he gets off work at 11pm and is home by midnight. It takes him an hour or so to slow his mind and decompress so he is usually in bed by 2am.
In my morning solitude I read, feed the birds and the dogs, and listen to the early sounds of the neighborhood waking. On weekdays this includes the sounds of school buses, the garbage trucks, and people leaving for work. I imagine myself sitting on a porch beside the ocean or a mountain lake, trekking through Paris searching for a meal or stopping in a pub in Ireland for conversation and laughter.
Sometimes my mind plans home improvement ideas and the standard “if I won the lottery” schemes. Occasionally mom and Chuck are up and moving around at the same time, but there are those days that my care giving doesn’t start until 8:30 or 9am. Those are wonderful mornings.