Psst! Wake Up!

Last spring, my youngest son, N, would routinely get up early in the morning and read the comic section of the newspaper with me.  We'd each have a cup of coffee; his mostly sugar and milk, and discuss our favorite strips.  I enjoyed this time with him and I wondered if it would continue through the summer.  It did at first, but by mid August he was joining me less and less frequently.  By the end of August I was back to reading the paper alone.  I missed him, but the extra sleep he was getting improved his mood overall, which was a definite plus.  This fall we have a new dynamic regarding school.  My oldest son, B, has moved on to middle school.  The change means he needs to get on a bus a full two hours before N's classes begin.  My morning routine now involves waking B and getting him ready for school.  N, meanwhile, has shown no interest in getting up earlier than he needs to.

I must admit, I hate waking my kids.  This morning, as I stood in their bedroom, there was just enough ambient light for me to see their faces as they slept.  I stood in the center of the room for a moment, watching them.  They are beautiful, I thought, and I am so very fortunate.  This simple fact sometimes gets lost or hidden in the din of the hustle and bustle of our lives.  But, here in this quiet place it is perfectly clear and evident.  After my reflective moment, I set about the task of waking B.  As I stated, I hate waking my kids.  Since the moment they were born, getting them to sleep has been a primary objective of mine.  I remember countless nights, rocking and walking, singing, humming, anything to get them to fall asleep.  I once watched a very late-night Terminator marathon on cable because I didn't want to disturb N, sleeping in my arms.  I have been conditioned - a sleeping child is a rare, precious commodity.  Once attained, it needs to be nurtured and protected.  Thus, waking either of my sons feels completely wrong to me.  I try to be gentle with B, a calm voice, a hand on the shoulder.  It usually takes a little more.  Sometimes, I try to coerce a cat into jumping onto him, anything to avoid having to wake him myself.  Of course, the whole process needs to be done quietly in low lighting, ever mindful of the other son who doesn't need to awake just yet.  Somehow, it's worked out thus far.

Once awake, B gets dressed and joins me at the counter where he reads the comics while I get his breakfast.  Then we chat about the comics, or the morning, or the day ahead, or whatever.  Not too terrible a way to begin the day.