When Naomi was two-years-old (nearly three, ok?) I taught her how to make her own toast in the toaster.
I know, I know.
But hey, (1.) She was very advanced for her age and (2.) She'd hop out of her crib at 6:00 a.m., all sing-song-y and chipper and ready to eat breakfast and play while I, at just 23-years-old, craved more sleep and felt oh-so elderly, what with caring for an inquisitive, always-moving toddler during each long day. So I figured that if I taught Naomi to make her own toast, I'd be rewarded with more lovely moments of delicious sleep.
If you'd smiled and told me back then that when I was 50 I'd bound out of bed each morning between 3:30 and 5 o'clock, I'd have thrown my pillow at you. Hard. Yet now, on most mornings, that's exactly what happens--I'm up when all is nearly-silent.
Until this week I believed, simply, that my grandmother's early-rising habit had become mine. When I was 10, lying inside my sleeping bag upon the couch when we'd spend the night, I remember watching Grandma in her robe walk into the kitchen lit only with a nightlight to make coffee at 5:00 a.m. She'd sit at the table with her coffee and gaze out the window until one of us--usually me--would join her and share with her all the words and stories I'd kept pent-up since our last visit.
How magical to share those early mornings and sunrises with my grandmother as she listened to me.
Anyway. Last week I read an article which stated that older folks need less sleep. Aha! So that explains why, when I get just 6 or 7 hours of sleep, I go about my day, not dragging along, not even considering taking a nap. But feeling fine.
The 50-year-old inside me loves her dark, early mornings, what with her hot chocolate, daybreak local tv news, watching Joyce Meyer, writing in her blog (and reading others) and checking her email.
The 23-year-old inside would not have believed this ever could be true.
Yet the 10-year-old inside me wishes her grandmother still sat at her dark kitchen table, watching for sunrise and waiting to hear all the stories I've saved-up to tell her.
I know, I know.
But hey, (1.) She was very advanced for her age and (2.) She'd hop out of her crib at 6:00 a.m., all sing-song-y and chipper and ready to eat breakfast and play while I, at just 23-years-old, craved more sleep and felt oh-so elderly, what with caring for an inquisitive, always-moving toddler during each long day. So I figured that if I taught Naomi to make her own toast, I'd be rewarded with more lovely moments of delicious sleep.
If you'd smiled and told me back then that when I was 50 I'd bound out of bed each morning between 3:30 and 5 o'clock, I'd have thrown my pillow at you. Hard. Yet now, on most mornings, that's exactly what happens--I'm up when all is nearly-silent.
Until this week I believed, simply, that my grandmother's early-rising habit had become mine. When I was 10, lying inside my sleeping bag upon the couch when we'd spend the night, I remember watching Grandma in her robe walk into the kitchen lit only with a nightlight to make coffee at 5:00 a.m. She'd sit at the table with her coffee and gaze out the window until one of us--usually me--would join her and share with her all the words and stories I'd kept pent-up since our last visit.
How magical to share those early mornings and sunrises with my grandmother as she listened to me.
Anyway. Last week I read an article which stated that older folks need less sleep. Aha! So that explains why, when I get just 6 or 7 hours of sleep, I go about my day, not dragging along, not even considering taking a nap. But feeling fine.
The 50-year-old inside me loves her dark, early mornings, what with her hot chocolate, daybreak local tv news, watching Joyce Meyer, writing in her blog (and reading others) and checking her email.
The 23-year-old inside would not have believed this ever could be true.
Yet the 10-year-old inside me wishes her grandmother still sat at her dark kitchen table, watching for sunrise and waiting to hear all the stories I've saved-up to tell her.
******
Psalm 90:14
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
*******
And in case you were wondering, Nope! No big snowstorm here. Just a few tiny, tiny stray flakes here and there.
*****
This is funny cause I was thinking this mornign when I slept later than usual and got up about 6, 'why cant' you sleep til 10 like you used to?' I enjoy my early mornings. The house is quiet, peaceful. Those are precious memories you have.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post. With being just short of 50 and my son being 8 I feel like I am in the middle. He wakes before dawn while I am tending lunches. It is our time.
ReplyDeleteThe almost 35 year old me still has a hard time believing that I will ever be able to willingly get up early in the morning. I'm such a slugabed.
ReplyDeleteWhat a sweet memory of your Grandmother. I remember mine waking so early also and wondered how she could do that. Now I know....
ReplyDeleteAnd then I wonder why when we age we do that. Maybe to make up for the shorter time we feel we have left? Interesting...
thanks for sharing this today.
Just went and peeked at your
ReplyDelete'Farm of Our Later Years'
And fell in love....
I'm 62 and still a sleepy head. I miss all those beautiful early morning treasures. I find that in the winter especially, when the bed is all warm and cozy, I have a really hard time forcing myself up and out!
ReplyDeleteI think I need to set the alarm and just get up and enjoy the best part of the day!