Make Mine Morning

For many years, morning and I had only a nodding acquaintance.  We tolerated each other the way you put up with a good friend’s spouse who you really don’t like very much: by attempting to avoid that person, and griping about them quietly when you can’t stand it any longer

Like me, Stylish never had much to do with morning.  We would wake each day and follow a script much like this one:

“Mo-om,” she would call from her bed.

“Good morning, honey,” I would call back.

“Come here.”

“No, you come here.”

“No, you come here.”

“No, you come here.”

And on it would go until one of us cracked.  We would both snuggle into the winner’s bed and talk about what we were going to do when we finally got up.  It was all very civilized.

And then came Indy.

Indy has what I call, in honour of my mother's family, Disease J.  This happy troop pops up by 5am every day.  I use “pop” deliberately; there is no hesitation, no creaks and groans – just open eyes and a happy smile.  They are awake!  They are cheery!  They are ready to go!  Mind you, they are all useless by 7:30pm, but before the sun comes up?  Unstoppable.

Grasshopper and I are a little overwhelmed by the pro-morning camp.

“Mom.  Mom.  Mom.”  Someone is patting my face in the dark.  “Mom, I want some juice.  Mom, get up.”

“Indy, go to sleep.”  I shuffle over and give her part of my pillow.  “It’s dark.  The sky has to be blue before we get up.”

A big sigh.  “Oooo-kaaaay.”  I fall asleep again.

Face-patting resumes.  “Stop that.”

“Mom, the sky is blue.  Get up, Mom.  I want juice.  The sky is blue.”  I crack an eye open.  Perhaps three photons glide across the sky, drinking coffee and yawning. 

“For the love of god,” Erik mutters into his pillow.

I roll into a sitting position and remind myself that this is our deal.  Erik gets up in the middle of the night with boat disasters; I get up with early risers.  Some days it feels like a better deal than others

Indy manages another six hundred requests for juice as we shuffle up to the cockpit.  The fridge is still an open pit, so warm juice it is.  Indy doesn’t mind.  As she downs glass #1, I am now permitted to visit the facilities.  Even more importantly, I can now brew tea.  My precious Darjeeling, slowly elevating me to a human-like state.

We move on to puzzles on deck.  After a couple of rounds of Under The Sea, we try the Rainforest puzzle.  I am on cup #2 now, and the sky is fully light.  It is quarter to eight, and I hear Erik and Martha stirring below.  The lucky crumbs.

Someday, Indy will be old enough to get up on her own.  She can putter happily through the first hours of the day before anyone else emerges.  I’ll always be glad we had those quiet hours together when she was young... but I’m looking forward to sleeping in past 6am just a little bit, too.