Hi ho, hi ho, it’s to the gym I go!

I have spent a lot of time, I ridiculous amount of time really, trying to organize my day in such a way as to not be too rushed.  I truly hate when every day feels like I am just ushering Bean from one location to another.

Hurry! Hurry! We have to go to school today.

Hurry!  Hurry!  We have to get home!

Hurry!  Hurry!   We have to get a bath!

After talking to my sister-in-law this weekend I think I am finally ready to accept reality.  There is no perfect way to organize my day that doesn’t require I sacrifice something.  If I want to do all of the things I need squeeze into a day (meals, coffee, sleep, time with family, exercise, oh and work) something is going to have to give.  Apparently that thing is going to be my 6 a.m. wake up time.

That’s right.  No more 6 a.m. for me.  There’s a new wake up time in town.  5 a.m.

Ms. 5 a.m. if you’re nasty.

Groan with me friends.  It’s mightily early.


5am. Just me and the chickens.

I sincerely hope that you were not also up this early in the morning.  I am, mostly, a morning person, but even 5am is a little early.  I appreciate what people say about getting up before everyone else and getting things done around the house.  Getting a jump on things!  But I have two problems with this idea.   The first is that these folks must live in a house with much better sound proofing than mine.  The second is that I just cannot seem to break through the mental wall that defines everything this side of 6am as just too damn early.  I’m sure it has something to do with having to get up at 4am during my “formative” years to get in the car and get my stepfather to work on time.   But I still don’t have a way around the wall yet.  I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

“So why is she up so early,” you may be asking yourself.

Well, truthfully. I had a dream about my grandparents.  I am unsure whether to classify it as a “dream” or a “nightmare.”  I have dreams like this pretty frequently, but this one was particularly difficult.  In my dream they were both alive.  Their house had been sold, like in real life, and they wanted to go back and have a look.  Though my grandmother was no longer living when the house sold in real life.  It was as if they just hadn’t been around when it sold and so a lot of things were left behind that they never intended to leave behind.  And then the inevitable happens.  One minute I’m holding my grandmother’s hand and arm to help her down some stairs and the next minute I’m awake in my bed and she is gone.  Again.

This part never gets any easier, does it?