Well, my week of culinary debauchery has come to an end. A week of food has no calories right now and there are two other adults here to help corral the boys and my husband is relaxed for the first time in months and my sleep patterns are still janked up past recognition.
And I am somehow up early this morning. I don’t get it either.
I am NOT a morning person. I am also NOT a night owl. I am a solid afternoon being, functioning at highest capability between 10 am and about 6 pm. Before and after those hours I am either running on fumes or just not “all there.” I’m not likely to stay up late doing stuff, I’m more likely to lie in bed staring at the ceiling/walls/dark air around me (see every night for the last several weeks). But on the rare morning that I’m able to impersonate an early bird, I delight in being up. Why?
The boys are still asleep (thank you sweet baby zombie Jesus and all the rainbow-farting unicorns of my dreams), Tom is in the shower, the dog is snoring on the LoveSac in the next room. I’m at MacDreamy2 with my second cup of coffee, reveling in the blessed silence before the AGH! IT’S LATE AND YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE! craziness descends. It’s the calm before the storm, the one where you can see and smell it coming, but still appreciate the brief peace. Mmm…
I hear thumps from above. My blessed quiet has come to an end. The morning hurricane is rushing ashore, and I can only hope that this blessed quiet will sustain me through the storm.