Humor: Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!

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Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!

Rebecca Klempner

Generally speaking, my husband loves me—just not before 9 a.m. Why? Because I am a morning person.

Fortunately for me, he only found out at 7 a.m. the day after our wedding. (Who knows what he would have done if he’d discovered the horrible truth earlier?) The alarm rang, he turned his head in my direction, and discovered I was already watching him, eagerly waiting for him to awake. Foolishly, I opened my mouth and said, “Good morning!” with all the perkiness of a cheerleader.

Later, he would tell me that his first thought was, She talks to people in the morning! Talks to them and expects them to respond!?! What kind of monster did I marry?

It went downhill from there. If my husband was running late to shul, I’d complain, which he informed me was rude, because, sure, it was easy for me to say it’s easy to get to minyan on time. I’m a morning person, and moreover since I have no requirement to pray with a minyan, I also have no yetzer hara dragging me back into the snug comforts of my Sealy Posterpedic.

If I tried to “encourage” him rather than gripe (e.g. By pulling back the curtains and chirping, “Look, Honey! Isn’t it a beautiful morning!”), he’d accuse me of obnoxiousness.

Eventually, we learned ways to overcome this hurdle. On most mornings, my husband is out the door before I have awakened, not because he wants to get up that early, but because otherwise, he’d be late for the only minyan he can finish and arrive on time for work. By the time I am bouncing out of bed, switching on NPR, and making coffee, joyfully contemplating all my big plans for the day, he is safely surrounded by silent men deep in tefillah. If he comes home before work, I try to let him eat a few bites of breakfast before chatting him up.

But right now, he’s on vacation.

Our children have split into both camps. The eldest is firmly a night person, in part because he’s a teenager and thinks his bedtime is midnight no matter how often we remind him to be in bed at ten.

Our nearly 11-year-old enjoys sleeping in during vacation. We have learned from experience that waking her prematurely results in the loss of limbs.

The 9-year-old is usually chipper in the morning, so long as she remembers to eat breakfast. But she would rather read than talk to me.

At 6:45 a.m., the only person who wants my company is my 13-year-old. And I’m afraid that as all those teenage hormones flood is brain in the coming months and years, he’ll abandon me, too.

My poor husband takes one look at me in the morning, forces himself to say, “Hi!” and dives into the bathroom. Since it’s nearly impossible for me to contain my good cheer, I’ve decided that the smartest thing to do is to just get out of the house.

So, if you’ve spotted me at 6:45 or 7:15 a.m., running the streets of Beverlywood, you now know why. Well, that and if I run any later than that, I will melt. Because, you know, it’s summer.