Breakfast at McD’s

My first try at college, I lived at home and drove 14 miles each way to the community college. 
Then I worked awhile at a hospital, still living at home. 
Finally, I had saved enough to go away to college and do regular college-y stuff like panty-raids and Spring Break in Florida.
The party-hardy plan didn’t come together, although there was one fella who tried to make it happen.  Life might have been altogether different these days.  Don’t think about “what might have been.”

Anyways, one guy did his darndest to get me going in the mornings, up and at ‘em, “Let’s meet for breakfast in the cafeteria.”  There were times I wanted to just stuff a sock into his smug little respectfully smiling face. 
I am not a morning person.  At that time, eating wasn’t a real high priority either. 
On the days when my first class came a little later in the morning, I would crawl out of bed and make it to the cafeteria as if it were my first class.  He seemed so happy to see me. 
Nobody should possibly be so doggone Cheerful before sunrise.

Fast-forward a few years, after the wedding and the births of babies. Yes, we did get married, much to the amazement of several friends and family members.
Husband had a job close enough to walk to work, I was a stay-at-home mom. 
There were Years of practice about morning routine. 
Sometimes, he would leave me nursing the youngest, with the older two sleeping alongside us in the queen-size bed.  His breakfast was whatever he fixed for himself. 
A working man, going out into the cold, with only a bowl of Grape-Nuts in his tummy. 
Proof positive—June Cleaver is a fictional character.

Saturdays, he’d cook omelettes for all, or bring home Hardee’s raisin biscuits. 
French toast was a treat for Christmas morning.

I learned to never schedule appointments for anyone before 10am because I simply could not get us all cleaned up and dressed any sooner. 
The morning the middle son lost a shoe (found under the couch, waaay back in the corner), I almost had a nervous breakdown. 
The paperwork for schools had a request for the sons to have afternoon Kindergarten to give the harried homemaker time to get organized and feed children something besides yogurt for breakfast.

Mothers who manage to have each and every child at a different place and still get to the paycheck job by 8am deserve the title Wonder Woman, with just the right tinge of Awestruck in the voice.  Morning comes just Too Early.

This brings us to today.  The youngest son was up ‘til oh, 3am, typing madly on his computer.  The mom in me would assume doing college homework, but who can say for sure. 
I got up for my usual once-in-the-night trip to the potty, but was sleeping pretty good most of the time.

The alarm was set to sound at 6:30am.  Husband has to be at work at 8am.  My first class today would be at 9am.

5:50am, a full 40 minutes before alarm clock goes off.

I was completely awake.  No signs of grogginess, no hitting the snooze button and begging for a few more minutes. 
I heard Husband sigh softly beside me, then he sat up on the edge of the bed on his side. 
What are we doing awake?  What happened?  A noise?  was the cat puking?

No, just a guy who had a bicycle accident last summer and a woman leaning into menopause. 
Sleep doesn’t last long enough these nights. 
“Want to go up for breakfast?” he asked.
I got up, combed my hair, then began pulling on my clothes. 
The pleased expression that crossed his face wiped 25 years away.

We’ve set ourselves up for a new routine.  Empty nest could have some perks.

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