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My Cup of Love

— It's The Little Things

I am not a morning person. The new day usually arrives without me. Before I even open my eyes I have to run through a list of incentives to entice me out of bed; it’s a beautiful day, there might be a parcel in the post, a coffee in the making. Unfortunately, one negative thought (it’s raining, it’s cold, I’ve already slept in so long and wasted half the day, the pile of laundry) is enough to wipe out all previous positive thoughts.

Sigh. Maybe a hot shower? I’m still lying here, eyes shut, hoping someone will open a vein and administer caffeine. Dreamy thoughts of being a lotus eater, a hammock dweller in a Maldivian paradise... Horrid thoughts of expired car registration, the state of the kitchen without adult supervision...

Pointless escapism into being long-legged, lithe and lean where I bounce out of bed every day in a fever of excitement at my extensive [and tiny] wardrobe and what to wear because everything fits perfectly and looks fab. Forlorn self-loathing at thought of my tracksuit pants once used for actual work-outs.

I definitely don’t want to get up now. What about a few more pages of my novel to gently nudge me into the new day. Can’t see without squinting since vision requires me to get up and put my contacts in. Can't face the mirror yet. Still hoping an espresso will be brought to me.

I read half a page then hear a Scream! and raised voices from the direction of the kitchen. How unfair, it’s practically the middle of the night. Guilt. If I had been in the kitchen all untimely mishaps would have been avoided and children would have manners of royalty. Lie there imagining a variety of industrial scale accidents taking place at the other end of the house.

If I don’t get up I could be caught half-naked, unable to see and looking like death when the circus moves down hallway to bedroom. Decide I cant possibly recreate dreamy island idyll because serenity shattered, and can't read book due to potential fatalities in kitchen and ensuing guilt.

OK I am getting up. Too Late. The bedroom door bangs open and slams back against the wall. Three sobbing children stagger in yelling, pointing, blaming (none of them have an espresso for me). I can only make out blurred frowns and weepy eyes. But…I suddenly smell something… Yes!

I manage to haul myself into a sitting position while curtains are screeched open. Blinding.

And a small cup of love is positioned in my hand. The three terrors are bundled back out the door (closed quietly). And I start the day with a smile on my face. Aaahh THANKYOU


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