I am definitely not a morning person, but it now seems that I'm not the only one!
Published 10/09/2013 | 05:38
I am NOT a morning person. In fact if I didn't have children, I probably wouldn't bother getting up at all! It doesn't seem to matter whether I'm working or not, if it's the weekend or we're away on holidays - I am still a grumpy old bag in the mornings. The rest of the time I am a little ray of sunshine, ask anyone, just don't come near me first thing!
But you can't really be a moody mare who snarls instead of speaks when you've got kids. Well you can but you'd probably eventually be reported to the ISPCC on grounds of verbal cruelty. So over the years I have perfected my morning face to that of a person who delights in making lunches and pouring out cereal at 8 am.
Himself knows better. After 13 years of marriage he knows not to engage me in conversation at all first thing in the morning. It is probably the only time I don't want to talk and I make up for it during the rest of the day but first thing, I can't seem to formulate a sentence in my head.
So he gets out of bed first and lets the dog out while I put my head under the duvet and pray that they will all forget I'm there. Ten minutes later he comes in with a cup of tea and places it on the bedside locker without speaking.
I remain where I am for another five minutes and then he sticks his head around the door silently and I go, "Ok,Ok I'm up!" which is exactly what I used to say when I was 16 and my mother was dragging me out of bed for school.
I avoid looking in mirrors first thing because that's bound to put me in even fouler humour. By the time I reach the kitchen I have assembled my features into a smile and I burst in chirping 'good morning everyone!'
But obviously the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree because lately I've noticed they don't even bother answering me. The Youngest sits sideways on her chair eating her coco pops, looking like she's been dragged through a bush backwards and stares at me as if wondering, "who is that mad wan with the bed head in our kitchen?"
The Boy then sits at the far end of the table with his head stuck in his cereal not even looking up and Himself is usually reading the free local newspaper. The dog is the only one who greets me enthusiastically, wagging his tail ferociously at the prospect of a tin of pedigree chum.
'Is no one talking this morning?' I venture. I hear a grunt from one end of the table and a moan from the other. 'I'm tiiiiiiired,' whinges the Youngest. Himself gets up and shuffles across the kitchen with his plate before disappearing into the bathroom with his phone for half an hour.
The two kids are still sitting at the table with faces that would turn milk sour. 'Could ye not just give me a little smile? It doesn't cost anything.' The Boy rolls his eyes and ignores me whilst the Youngest bares her teeth in what can only be described as a grimace.
'I have no smiles left in me right now. They normally come back in the afternoon,' replies the Youngest.
I know exactly what she means!
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