Impossible Things Before Breakfast

The Mad Hatter: “Have I gone mad?”
Alice: “I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret: All the best people are.”


No, you’re right. I don’t usually post on Monday mornings, but I really should start making it a habit. I think it would be highly amusing for you. This particular Monday morning, you’re in for a treat, because I’ve had south of four hours of sleep (and also, my keyboard is sticking in multiple places, which could go either way. . . “Wait, did she mean for a C to be there? Please tell me she meant for there to be a C!”)


So here’s my Monday morning routine: I wake up at 5:30, alarmed. Can we talk about that? Whose idea was it to go and alarm people before the sun, when they’ve had two lovely days of waking up rather unalarmed and cozily cuddling with their stuffed pups in bed? WHO THOUGHT OF THAT? Because when my phone goes off on Monday morning, my eyes open suddenly and I get very alarmed: Why is there strumming happening/who broke in with a guitar/it’s the middle of the night/ it’s MONDAY, OH NO, I AM ALARMED. So, I do what every alarmed person would in the Mordor that is Monday morning before the sun: I snooze. You would, too.

Keep in mind, this is before the coffee, and 2.3 cups of that keeps me looking at the glass as half-full. After a touch from Jesus, the coffee and the roommates (yes! rommates who bustle before 6 a.m.! I am blessed.), things start to seem more manageable. Sometimes I catch a ride, and other times, I put a skip in my step called “I’mlate,I’mlate,I’mgoingtobelate,morecoffee?I’mlate!” and walk the 1.5 miles to work from my parking spot. It’s mornings like that (like this) that I get to watch God show off. Alarmed or not, this is the stuff of dreams.

And I know it’s going to be okay. Especially after another cup of coffee.


In other news, I learned three things this weekend: I am turning into my mother, I like breakfast in bed, and I still only have six freckles. Let me explain. First, check out my mother:

Cute, huh? I just wanted you to have a visual. Anyway, this realization dawned on me on Saturday afternoon, when I was sitting in the theater watching The Hunger Games. I was sitting next to my friend Norm, and I happened to glance down. (By the way, I rest fully assured Norm will not mind if I share this with you, because he’s already convinced I have lost 3/4 of my marbles and finds it endearing.) Oh, you want a visual? Here you go. It was kind of like this, except we were less bundled and looked approximately five months older.

Anyway, I looked down and he had taken off his shoes, and his bare feet were on the theater floor. (My mother just grimaced.) Worry not, Norman, as Janie pipes up, “I do that too!”, as do 87% of theater-goers, but not my mother. My mother is actually the world’s leading purchaser of hand sanitizer, and is responsible for my dry, flaky hands, which become that way when one washes said hands 42 times a day (mostly out of habit.) And I thought not one bit about Norm’s feet on the floor, really (I’m in the your-feet-your-business camp), but mainly of the fact that my mother is in my head. It will happen to you, people. It will happen to you.


Also, my best friend made me breakfast in bed Sunday because she is the sort of person who does very nice things for everyone, and especially the people she loves, and she loves me. And I liked it. (It was my first time, but I’m pretty sure no other breakfast-in-bed experience can top it, so don’t try. On second thought, you can make your own decisions. I am not Stalin.)


Once upon a time (think 1997), I heard my biological mother tell my older gingery sister that freckles were “angel kisses! The angels loved you so much that they were sad you were going down to Earth, so they kissed you all the way down!” I set about counting my freckles, and was dismayed to come up with a grand total of four. Granted, math is not my cup of tea, but I was breezing through first grade, so I trusted my skills. Since then, I have found/developed two others, but I had it my head that perhaps I’d discovered even more in my old age. Alas, a recount on Sunday afternoon confirmed six, which is approximately/exactly 22 short of the desired number (that’s 28.) And that, people, is why Gracie is my hero.

Okay, so her freckles aren’t super visible there, but I like that picture, so just trust a sister and enjoy the sunset.


Speaking of the sun, I got to see the sunrise this morning.

“I’ll tell you how the Sun rose—
A Ribbon at a time—” —Emily Dickinson

I’m sleepy, nonsensical, and at 5:43 a.m., I was grumpy. But then, I saw the sun, and I remembered the Beautiful Love it stands for.

“God, you did everything you promised,
and I’m thanking you with all my heart.
You pulled me from the brink of death,
my feet from the cliff-edge of doom.
Now I stroll at leisure with God
in the sunlit fields of life.” —Psalm 56:12-13

I could still use another cup of coffee, though.


2 thoughts on “Impossible Things Before Breakfast

  1. Two things I love about this post:
    1) My appearance in it
    2) The Lord of the Rings reference in the 2nd paragraph
    Let’s keep those coming

    1. So it’s true, then? You think I’ve lost my marbles so you care not what I write about your feet? And Monday morning and Mordor aren’t so different after all. One does not just walk into Monday morning…

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