When my boys were little, they would land in our bed before the crack of dawn. Neil's MO for waking me up was to stick his finger in my nose. And Josh once banged his head in my face to get me out of my coma. I had to get a root canal to repair a nerve that almost died in that assault.
Confronted with hyperactive toddlers in pitch darkness, I'd drag myself out of bed, turn on cartoons, give them cereal and go back to sleep for a few more winks. By the time they hit teen years, our roles had reversed. I was dragging them out of bed by their toenails and shoving them out of the door just in time for the bus.
I repeated this mantra to them like a parrot - Not all morning people are successful people but all successful people are morning people.
I gave them example after example of highly accomplished CEOs, scientists, doctors, lawyers, writers, and politicians who wake up before everybody else, work out, and spend an hour or two organizing their day before their first meeting. In return, they gave me zombie looks or a heavy dose of sass.
After a few of these nasty morning encounters, I decided their tardiness is not my problem. If they don't make it to school it is their problem. They have to want to do this right. So I changed my routine - I'd get ready, grab a cup of coffee and read the news, waiting for them to pop down the stairs. When I stopped forcing them out of bed, they began setting their alarms and getting ready on time.
Kids! The most unintuitive beings after the Kardashians.
Now our roles have reversed again. Josh called me this morning at 5:50 am on his walk to the hospital all excited about a laryngectomy and Neil called me at 6:20 am from his one-hour commute to work.
They. Woke. Me. Up.
I could hear them whispering - Haha Ma! Not all morning people....
...while I felt like Garfield wondering how to take back my words.