My eyes flutter open and I wait for the round, silver clock beside our bed to come into focus. I blink. And blink again. Close one eye and then the other and then back again, until finally the little hands start to appear. Seven twenty three.
I throw back our double stacked duvet and swing my legs over the side of the bed, gingerly stretching for my feet to find the floor. My cloud pajamas are twisted almost the entire way around my body and it takes a second to figure out how exactly to detangle them. I stand. I stretch. A little wobbly, I find my way across the room. One hand rubbing my eyes, the other reaching for the door. Because I've found that when you use both hands to rub your eyes, the doors tend to find you.
I pause long enough by the hallway mirror to smile at the sorry state of my hair, before making my way to the kitchen to flip on the burner for our burnt orange sienna tea pot. The flames crack a few times before stretching their way out around the bottom of the kettle. I guess everything has its own way of waking up.
I make my way to the couch to wrap myself in my great grandma's quilt and start my day with some quiet time and a good inspirational book....or a celebrity gossip magazine. Y'know whatever's closer.
Just then I hear the familiar tap, tap, tap and the jingle jangle of my favorite part of the morning. Cooper's teddy bear face appears around the corner in the kitchen and he stops, head cocked to one side, as if to say "Are you crazy?? It's 7:23 in the morning."
He sighs, takes a few steps, stretches into his best downward dog, and then tap tap taps his way on over to the couch. He climbs up and flops his head into my lap with one more sigh that says, "y'know...you're lucky I love you." I pat his a head a few times and with that, he's off to sleep again.
But for me, it's what I love most about waking up.