I love mornings and have always been a morning person.
When I was growing up I would always be the first one up…apart from my dad. I would awaken early on a Saturday morning, tip-toe downstairs so as not to awaken any siblings, and would find my dad quietly reading the paper and drinking his morning coffee.
In the cold months he would be in the sunroom and in summer he would be sitting by the pool. I can remember countless delightful mornings having my dad all to myself while the rest of the family slept. We would chat about life, the Universe and everything. And, after dad finished his paper, we would look at the Saturday recipe in the Food Section and decide whether it sounded like a good family dinner for that night.
At the time, those mornings with my dad just seemed like our normal Saturday routine. Looking back, however, I can see them for the golden relationship-building moments that they were and my throat tightens a bit at the remembering. As one of four kids in a very busy household, any one-on-one time was incredibly special.
Fast forward a number of years and I have finished university and am back in Toronto living with my parents. The only other sibling at home is my beloved baby brother, Mike, who is just finishing his last two years of high school. Rather than the weekend mornings of my childhood that stand out, however, it is the weekday ones that I remember with a laugh.
I would be up and ready for work and sitting cheerily at the breakfast table eating an enormous breakfast. Mike would stumble out of bed at almost the last minute just in time to have a quick breakfast. I was always so full of energy in the mornings and so glad to see Mike that I would launch into the happy chatter that was the hallmark of my mornings with my dad all those years before.
What I did not register at the time was that it was an entirely one-sided communication. Mike did not talk at all.
On one particularly grey morning in November (two months in to my living back at home after four years away), I was in mid-stream when Mike fixed me with a dead and bleary-eyed stare and said; ‘Kate, for God’s sake, stop the morning psycho babble!’
Morning psycho babble…?!?!?!
That morning has become one of my fonder memories of Mike and my kids absolutely love that story. I have valiantly attempted over the years to curb my penchant for morning effusiveness. Particularly because I did not marry a morning person and none of my sons enjoy my verbose morning meanderings. Some mornings, however I just can’t seem to rein it in.
This morning I was awakened by our fat grey cat at 5:30. She wanted out and was going to relentlessly pester until she was freed from the confines of the house. I was annoyed at first because, being a Saturday morning, I was planning on sleeping in until 6:30 or 7:00.
However, the sweet drift of summer air that met me at the back door shifted my mood instantly. What a gorgeous morning! And, the first day of summer to boot!
I just couldn’t wait for someone else in my house to awaken so I could share it.
Watch out morning psycho babble…
A few hours later, I was sitting in the back garden enjoying my morning tea when I was joined by a poor, unsuspecting Simon. Unlucky for him, he became the recipient of my torrent of exuberant morning energy; ‘isn’t it a gorgeous morning?’, ‘what a perfect day!’, ‘don’t you just LOVE June?’, ‘don’t you just love sitting outside in the morning?’, ‘happy first day of summer‘. When he looked over at me from his Muskoka chair with that same look I remember from over twenty years ago, I smiled sheepishly and said; ‘morning psycho babble, right?‘
Oh well, old habits die hard. Where is my dad when I need him?