Saturday, June 13, 2009
Good Morning, Beautiful
With very few exceptions, my mother woke me up each morning of my childhood. In fact, she woke me up on my wedding day. Yes, I had an alarm clock. Yes, I knew how to use it. But, it was so much nicer to wake up to my Momma. She would sit beside me on the bed, her body tugging my covers just a little more snugly around me. Then she would tickle my bare arm with her long, long fingernails and sing to me. Yes, I said sing to me. My childhood days, each of them, began with affection and a song.
That tiny story tells a lot about my mother. About my childhood.
As you can see, when I became a mother I had a lot to live up to. A whole lot. I wanted to wake my daughter each day with singing. What a gift. In a lifetime of love, beginning each morning with a song is no small thing.
Isn't it amazing how frequently our intentions are hijacked by reality? My baby is an early-riser. I am a night-owl. A serious one. Example: it is 12:18 a.m. as I type these words. My baby informed me, at the age of five and a half, mind you, that she would really like to have an alarm clock of her own. She was big enough to wake herself up. Turns out, she was.
I've said it before, when life turns out differently than you've planned you have two choices. You can pout and be miserable. Or, you can adjust and be happy. I choose happy.
So. I don't wake Sloane up most mornings. But, the second I see her, I exclaim, "Good morning, Beautiful!" and grab her for a snuggle or a hug and always, always a great big smooch. When I do get to wake her up, guess how I do it. Yup. I sit down on her bed, my body pulling her covers tight. I massage her scalp or caress her face, and I sing to her.
Good morning, Beautiful.
All images by the amazing Honeypie Living.
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