Mornings, Mornings

I woke up this morning, and my first thought was, "Really? Another morning?" My second thought was, "Why is Toddler screeching like that?"

And so the day begins.

As I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, I got to thinking. When I was working full time, if I stayed at home, in bed, with the comforter pulled up over my ears, the worst that would happen would be that I would get fired. Well, let's be accurate. First I'd have an anxiety attack about all the people I was letting down, lots of people would call looking for me, and then I'd get fired.

Now, if I stay in bed all day with the comforter pulled up over my head, the worst that would happen is that no one would fire me. First, Toddler would come into the room yelling, "Mommy, TV please! Mickey Mouse Clubhouse!" Then the cats would come racing up the stairs to jump on the bed to have me referee their latest argument and complain abut the supply of cat food and the state of the litter box. If I'm really lucky, the cat who discovered that the litter is not clean will sit right next to my head, but I can handle that. I would have the covers over my head, remember? If I still refused to get up, the day might progress without me, but then I'd have to clean it all up eventually.

But, back to reality. On my way to the shower I saw cat stomach contents. Being in a state of undress, I called down to DH. "Hey, ____! I see hairball! Watch out when you come upstairs!"

At that point, he called back, "OK! I have time. Just put out the hairball flag, and I'll come get it!" Hmm. Sounds like DH has been watching too much My Friends Tigger and Pooh. We may need to snap him back to reality. But, in the meantime, I was rejoicing that there was a hairball attack timed so that I did not have to be the servant who cleaned it up. WOO HOO! Of course, I just got done telling that cat food survey company that there wasn't any puking during the past week ... hey survey company, can you call back? I need to amend my response.

Then I got dressed. It took me a while, because I have a lot of old fashioned shirts (cut "short" by today's standard), and new fangled jeans (riding "low" by my standards), and the two don't match. Trust me ... no one wants to see my gut hanging over my belt loops. Now I'm sitting at the kitchen table, typing this blog, eyeing the coffee machine, and trying to figure out how much protesting I will get when I tell Toddler we have to go for a long drive to drop off a big box and we can't bring the TV with us. DH is on his way out the door and just advised me that as far as he knows, Toddler hasn't pooped since early yesterday. He's a time bomb waiting to explode.

What did you do this morning?