Mornings are usually bad, especially weekday mornings. My bones hurt and my brain is muddy with thoughts of waning dreams. I lumber into the shower whining to myself that it sucks to get old, it sucks to have to get up early, everything sucks. Sometimes I say to myself, “Self”, I say, “suck it up”. And then I trudge through my morning routine of getting ready to take on another day.
Some days the household is quiet. Those are the days when a few of us non-morning people mope around in our own self-pity that another day is once again beginning. Some days the household is a cacophony of individual needs for immediate attention all at once, mostly from Todzilla Meghan. She can really foul up an already fouled morning. It’s her gift.
This particular morning as she’s getting ready to leave for daycare she urgently knocked on my bedroom door. I keep it closed to mute some of the cacophony. KNOCK, KNOCK, knock, KNOCK!
“Yes?” I respond, trying to sound more pleasant than tolerant. In bounds little Todzilla, with pep in her step, chipper and just soo stinking happy.
“Grammy, can you fix this?” She is dressed for the day ahead of her at daycare and sporting a green foil party hat and holding out to me a matching party horn that is unfortunately bent.
“What do you have on your head?” I ask.
“A pawrty hat.” She answers with an edge of “master of the obvious” attitude.
Sooo much attitude for a little kid.
“Who’s having a party?” I ask.
“YES!” she exclaims.
“Why is Matthew having a party? It’s not his birthday.”
“Because he uses the POTTY!”
“Ah, a Potty Party.”
“YES!” She squeaks. As if to say, “Who hasn’t heard of a Potty Party?” There’s that attitude again.
I tape up the party horn, adding to the cacophony that only this little person can generate. She is grateful.
Okay, some mornings aren’t so bad.