f*ck folgers

I am not a morning person.  Like, not at all.  I feel that alarm clocks are a rude and unnatural way to begin the day, and when mine goes off I experience a wide array of unpleasant emotions, ranging from confusion (fire?!) to bitter resignation, and always ending with anger.  I am angry it’s light outside.  I am angry to be wrenched from my nice, warm bed, with all its pillows and its down comforter which perfectly locks in the heat of my body while also allowing it to breathe... ugh, I’m getting cranky just thinking about it.  You’d think I’d just be happy to be alive another day, but I’m not.  I am pissed, and I wear a pissed off face and make pissed off noises until I have my coffee and the fog of hate begins to lift. Only then do I speak to my family; smiling comes much later.  I’ve had to modify this routine recently for little Estie, since she sort of demands love and attention straight out of the gate in the morning.  I try really hard to be the giant, friendly Mom face she knows and loves, but it's not easy before 7 AM.  We sort of make a good team though, because she's not happy to be awake at that time either, and she demonstrates this by screaming her head off (which I would totally do too if I had the energy).  So we sit like grumpy old men on the couch and make angry faces at the walls while she has a bottle and I sip coffee from a big spill-proof travel mug (I never want to have to explain to someone that my baby has third degree burns over 50% of her body because I just could not wait to have my Starbucks breakfast blend that day). Anyone watching us would think there was booze in our bottles, so drastic is our mood change by the end of our little ritual.  She burps, I brush my teeth, and we’re both in much better spirits in time for Ann Curry.  And the next morning we’ll do it all again, freshly annoyed at the dawn of a bright new day.