5 a.m.
But, as one does, I realized that 5 a.m. alarm didn’t feel so good. I missed it once. I missed it again. It wasn’t great. I wasn’t Good Mom – I was pretty cranky with my raring-to-go family. But school was close to done; did it really matter if everyone wasn’t exactly fed and dressed? Then, school was done and where did they need to be, anyway?
Next up: 10 hours. I’m talking teenager-levels of sleep, people.
If you’ve ever read our site and thought “Oh my LORD, whine whine whine, if you’re so bizzy and overwhelmed, where did you find the time to write a bunch of essays?” I understand. And the answer, my friends, is at 5 a.m.
I don’t know if it’s punishment for my behavior in a former life or statistically significant bad luck, but not one of our four children have been the kind of babies who sleep in. Which means: for the the past decade, I have been awake with a tiny tot (or three) at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. Often, the culprit(s) would fall back asleep in my lap, giving me an hour or two of sacred silence before the world’s expectations caught up.
First, I got used to it. Then, I got to liking it. Or at least I got to liking it more than I liked waking up at the same time as my raring-to-go family full of raring-to-go needs.
So when the kids started sleeping later (AS IN 6 a.m.) I began setting an alarm for 5 a.m. Every morning, I beat them awake and carved out my quiet time. It made me a Good Mom; the kind who could greet her children with a smile when they burst into the day. Coffeed, stretched, showered, and creatively unburdened, I could totally be there for their fight over who gets to sit at the counter vs. the table.
So here’s the point. As this spring rolled toward lovely summer and we engaged in all of the lovely end of the school year overwhelm, my younger two started sleeping in a touch later (AS IN 6:30 a.m.). Even better: the night wake-ups well and truly disappeared. Suddenly, I found I could read a book until 10:30 or 11p.m. safe in the knowledge that I wouldn’t be awakened twice in the night. And after days filled with school performances and spring sport coaching and a regular ol’ full time job, reading into the night fed my bruised little Maycember soul.
But, as one does, I realized that 5 a.m. alarm didn’t feel so good. I missed it once. I missed it again. It wasn’t great. I wasn’t Good Mom – I was pretty cranky with my raring-to-go family. But school was close to done; did it really matter if everyone wasn’t exactly fed and dressed? Then, school was done and where did they need to be, anyway?
I began to notice a circle on my fitness watch – one that had never once closed in all the years I’ve been wearing it. The circle stated that I was achieving “Excellent” sleep scores with my 7 hours 40 minutes; my 8 hours 2 minutes; my 8 hours 38 minutes.
For the past five weeks, I’ve been hungrily trying to close that circle, while just as hungrily gulping down books and TV series and 10 p.m. firefly spottings with my somehow-still-awake eyes. A part of me keeps scolding myself night after night, morning after morning. That part of me says, “Structure yourself, kid! Set that alarm and get into a summer routine. Those early mornings make you a Good Mom. Those early mornings make you a more consistent shower-er!”
But another part of me is winning, for once. It sticks its tongue out and says that I have been trying for structure in an unstructurable situation for the better part of a decade, without much success. It says, “You know what? It’s summer. If the kids want Good Mom, they can just sleep in like normal freaking human children on summer break until she comes to life.”
All that to say, I’m finding it very hard to write. And shower. And smile warmly at busy children upon morning’s first light.
I think it will come back. I genuinely like early mornings, and writing creatively, and personal hygiene. But for now – just for now, just for this precious little while – I’m closing other circles. So let’s all cut one another some summer slack, read books into the night, thrill at the fireflies, and sleep in until we’ve caught up on the years’ worth of sleep of which Good Mom-ming has deprived us.
