Waking up.

Today was vastly better then yesterday. I think a good part of that has to do with the fact that we all got up early. Getting up early has never been a strong point of mine, and I seem to bring whoever is around me right down with me. Just ask my roommates about the sleepy aura that permeated the rooms we shared. I always thought I would grow out of my sleeping-in problems. At first I thought it was a teenage thing, then I thought certainly, as a responsible college freshman living on my own, I would change my ways drastically. I even went so far as to take a 7 a.m. Book of Mormon class, needless to say, I received my first failing grade and at the end of the semester, the teacher pulled me aside and said, "I'm going to give you some advice: never take an early morning class for the rest of your college career, I don't think they are for you." I'm sure I nodded and went directly back to my dorm room and dove into the covers. I swear I'm not a lazy person! Nor a slob! I want more than anything to be a morning person. After the freshman incident, I lived with my dearest friend, Brooke, who also was not the best at getting up. We would set our alarm clocks three minutes apart and at the end of our beds. Our tactics did not deter us one bit, we sat up like alternating jack-in-the-boxes to slap the snoozed button for honestly, hours on end. In the meantime, our other two good friends who lived in the room next door had been up for hours. It was nothing short of out of control.

After these two years, I went on a mission. At which point, I was sure that I had matured into a young lady who would be able to rise with ease, even poise. For 18 months it was not so.

When people ask me what the hardest thing about my mission was, I never tell them that it was the endless slammed doors in my face, countless rejections, heat so intense I cried once, tough companions, wearing the same ugly skirt for over a year straight, no, the most difficult part of my mission was none of those things. By far, waking up at 6:30 every morning, every single morning, was the greatest trial as a missionary. For a time I had a companion who was a terribly eager girl, she got up at 5:30 a.m. to study. One morning, it must have been at the peak of my morning woes, I woke in the dark, found my way out of my sleeping bag and struggled to put on my sweatshirt. Uruguay is humid, and my hair is nigh unto crusty the clown's during most of my mission. When I am especially tired, my eyes get really puffy. That morning, I shuffled out to the kitchen where my companion was studying and without a word, rose my hand to greet her. She later told me that she had simultaneously never felt worse for someone and wanted to laugh so hard. I realized later that my sweatshirt was on upside-down, which explained the difficulty I had in trying to zip it up.

Five years later, when I got married, I thought that surely this would be the changing point when I would act like a real adult and really be able to get up the first time my alarm went off. Again, it was not so. In our first year of marriage Carl witnessed me pedaling my bike like a mad woman past walking students and up the big hill where I parked the bike hidden amongst the motorcycle parking lot on every Tuesday and Thursday at 9:29 a.m. He saw the back of my dress as I flew up the stairs and barely made it to the front of my class to teach.

Now, I am a mother. I am realizing that I have created a son who is very much after the manner of his mother. At 3 months old, he harnesses the capacity to sleep in like a miniature teenager. We've let it happen a few times, Remy and I, and occasionally Carl sleep in like our lives depend on it. I'm also realizing though, for perhaps, the first time in my life, that maybe I've been getting tricked all this time. I am realizing this because each morning as I wake Remy up at 8:00, he goes through about 30 seconds of absolute disgust and sadness for life. He cries, more yells, and tries to close his eyes again. However, when those thirty seconds are over, he opens his eyes wide and recognizes there are a lot of pretty great things around. Like me, with sweet bedhead. He is so happy and seems delighted with the morning. I am wondering then, have I just not ever let myself get past those thirty terribly crusty seconds that tell me not to get up, that it's best to stay in bed? (besides my mission, but I was just constantly exhausted then) I am learning, along with this little creature who somehow ends up right beside me every morning, that I just need to push past things that seem too hard. Don't quote me on this, but I think I may even become an avid morning person before I'm through yet.