“Is it a bird?
Is it a plane?
No. It’s Superman telling you wake up and brush your teeth!
BEEP. BEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEP.”
That was me channelling my Superman alarm clock from the early eighties. It totally rocked my world even if it didn’t help me grow into a happy morning person.
I am not a happy morning person. I am like a zombie reject from Night of the Living Dead. I do not sing. I curse. In multiple languages.
My mom used to come in with a cup of hot sweet tea and place it by my bed knowing that I needed a caffeine IV to get me out.
I counted the days until I left school happy in the naive belief I’d never have to get up at such an ungodly hour again. I was wrong. So terribly, horribly wrong.
As mother to three, I now wake up before I go to bed.
And I sing loudly and out of tune to rouse my children from peaceful slumber. I tickle their tummies. I blow in their ears and I take an obscene pleasure in this. It also made me wonder just how much of a morning person is my mother really?
For some reason known only to small children they can sleep until ten on schooldays, but wake with the sparrows on weekends.
Ah. But one day soon they will be sleep deprived teenagers. And I will enjoy putting them through the hell I have endured every morning.
Karma comes to everyone sooner or later.