Mornings - They Aren't For Everyone

It’s no secret that I’m not a gracious morning person.  There are exceptions – when I’m with my grandchildren or when I’m on vacation and can awake naturally without need of an alarm clock – but most days I need my quiet alone time before I’m good company.  My boss learned this years ago and in the past was known to toss a shoe into my office before he entered.  If it came back at him, he’d wait.

My husband knows this of course, but he has the most unusual approach to it.  He wakes up each morning like a dog, ready to go and excited about whatever the day will bring.  He has this notion that one morning things will be different, that I will wake up and be just like him.  Ain’t happening.

My non-morningness is one reason I don’t like to duck hunt.   Getting up at 4 a.m. to go sit outside in the cold or freezing rain isn’t my thing.  It is definitely my husband’s thing.  He’ll go duck hunting at the drop of a hat, he and #1 Duck Dog Duke.  I’ve learned how to get him packed up quickly so that on those mornings when he leaves our house at 3:30 a.m. I don’t have to get up and help him find things.  That’s the theory anyway.

Last Friday night we were packing for the hunt.  His plan was to leave between 3 and 3:30, and I sure didn’t want to have to get up and hunt for clothes/guns/ammo on a Saturday, my only day to sleep in.  I filled a small canvas bag with thick hunting socks, thermal underwear, cammo pants and shirt, a sweatshirt, and a clean pair of underwear.  He retrieved his heavy coat from the closet, his shotgun and .22 from the gun safe, and loaded them into the truck along with Sir Duke’s life vest.  Ammo?  At the Ranch, check.  Clothes laid out for him to jump into when the alarm went off in the morning?  Grubby jeans and hunting boots on the dresser, check.  I asked him a couple of times if there was any special clothing he wanted me to pack for him.  Nope, everything he wanted was ready.  He assured me he wouldn’t need to wake me the next morning.  Ha.

At 3:00 a.m. the alarm went off.  I woke briefly to wish him a safe trip then turned over under the warm covers.  After a few minutes it became clear to me that he was still here, in the closet messing around amongst his shirts.  He came out into the bedroom and in the light of the closet door held up his best, flannel shirt.  “Should I wear this?”  “No!” I said, annoyed at this last minute clothing issue.  I thought he had learned there are hunting clothes and there are other clothes so I don’t have the Great Laundry Challenge when he gets home.  I’d made sure to put out his hunting jeans the night before, but made the mistake of assuming he’d just grab a shirt out of the laundry hamper and go.  But No, he decides to stroll through the nicely laundered shirts hanging in his closet for a trip that will involve dirt, grime, mud, and blood.  Seriously?

Grouchily, I threw back the covers and put my feet on the floor, grumbling about having to get up and help him, how inconsiderate he was and a few other things I’m not proud of saying.  Then he decided he wanted a different sweatshirt than the one I packed.  At that, I launched into my spiel about how I hated last minute changes when we had decided on everything the night before.  Poor Paul  - I helped him alright, but he paid a 3 a.m. nagging price for it. 

At last he seemed to have everything he wanted and I headed back to bead, wishing him a safe trip and asking him to please turn off all the lights so I could go back to sleep.  I heard the clomp, clomp, clomp as he went downstairs, heard the door to the garage open and close several times as he and Duke did whatever it is they do to get ready to leave the house.  Snug under the covers I listened until I heard it.  Silence.  Beautiful, peaceful, undisturbed quiet.  Time to get back to dreamland.  Except that darn stairwell light was putting off just enough light into the bedroom doorway I couldn’t sleep. 

One more time out from under the warm covers, flip the light off, and back into warmth.  I said a prayer for safe travel, then thanked the Lord that I have a good husband, that I ‘m able to be his helpmate, that he puts up with my grumbling, that we have a lovely home and he is a good provider, and that the Lord forgives our bad attitudes and harsh words when we humbly ask.  Besides, I knew that after a couple of days of beautiful, peaceful, undisturbed quiet I’d be ready for the sound of that truck pulling into the driveway, ready to hear about the hunt, ready for a break from the quiet – something that comes naturally to the Hunter and Sir Duke.

Black Sheep Nativity

Lily, our almost 3 yr old granddaughter, likes to put on a show for her family from time to time.  So far it’s always been the same show, the biblical account of an angel visiting Mary to tell her she was going to give birth to God’s son, Joseph’s taking her to Bethlehem and the account of Jesus’ birth.  Her parents had informed us that if she said “put on a show” this is what she meant, rather than something to watch on TV.

We kept Lily this weekend and she did indeed want to put on her show for us.  We determined that performance time would be right before bedtime.  Grandpa was to be the narrator and I would help with props and sound.  As Director and Main Star, Lily took her roles very seriously.  She directed me to go upstairs and get the wooden cradle, baby, and a blanket for her costume.   When I came downstairs to put the cradle in place, she had just arranged a couch cushion on the floor which would be Mary’s bed and later also serve as donkey and manger.   She came over to have me arrange her robe and when she was satisfied walked over to the cushion and lay down.

Grandpa began, “Mary was sleeping.”   Mary shut her eyes tightly.  “An Angel visited Mary and told her that she was highly favored of God and had been chosen to give birth to God’s Son, that his name would be called Jesus.”  There was no movement, so Grandpa looked at me, and then said, “Mary woke up.”  Instantly Mary was awake and sitting up.  Grandpa continued, “Mary went to tell Joseph what had happened.”  Lily walked over to Grandpa and said, “You be Joseph.”  Joseph announced that he too had been visited by an angel, that he and Mary would be married, and that they were going to Bethlehem for the census.   End of Act I.

Act II began with Mary astride the donkey and the Narrator instructing her to ride more animatedly, which she did.  “Joseph and Mary made their way to Bethlehem, where they went to the inn to ask for a place to stay.”  Grandpa stage whispered to Lily, “the inn is over by the window”.  Mary moved to the window and Grandpa became the Innkeeper.  “I am so sorry but there is no room at the inn.  The best I can do is my stable, and you can have the cow’s hay for bedding.”   Mary walked back to the cushion, now a stable, and prepared a place to stay. 

Grandpa continued.  “Mary and Joseph went to the stable with all the animals.  And the baby was born and they named him Jesus as the angel had said.”  Mary went over to the cradle and picked up her baby doll.   “Mary was a very good mother, and she wrapped her baby in blankets carefully.”  Apparently this information was to be part of the show.   “That was the night a special star came out in the sky.”  Another stage whisper instructing her to look up at the ceiling fan light, and she dutifully gazed up at the “star”. 

“Over in the fields there were shepherds watching their sheep.”  Mary was informed that the fields were over by the door.  Then Grandpa had his brainstorm:  “Duke is out there with the shepherds.  Lily, wouldn’t Duke be a great sheep?”   Before the props manager could utter a sound, she let Duke in and after he sniffed around a little he actually lay down in the vicinity of the stable.    “And angels appeared to the shepherds telling of the good news, that this night a Savior was born.  The shepherds said let us follow the star and go see this thing that has happened.” 

And there was the little manger scene, complete with Mary in a long robe tending to her baby, a star shining overhead, and a 90 lb black “sheep” laying still by her side, looking perfectly composed, almost as if he knew exactly what he was doing.  Our very own Black Sheep Nativity.

New Doors and Eeyore Too

So we priced those new French doors for the living room, following the Duke Disaster.  Wow, I had no idea a set of those doors could cost $2,000.   Without installation.  My husband, being a man of his word, was determined to try and make up for the Duke damage by replacing the new doors.  But after we poured over the color glossys of different styles, I told him that all we really needed was new security.  If there was a way to make the doors we have lock securely with just the easy turn of a knob, I would be all for it.  He promised to work on it on Saturday.

And boy did he deliver.  I was out that morning doing errands and visiting with my son, and when I returned home Mr. Handyman greeted me with the news that the doors were fixed.  I was so excited I dumped the mail onto the couch and walked over to check it out.  A brand new shiny deadbolt lock was perfectly mounted on one door, two new strike-plates fixed sturdily into the other, and the lock moved easily from open to closed.  Duke was standing on the other side hoping to be let into the house where previously he had to break and enter.  But I had other ideas.  I opened the door, said “Stay”, and then closed it and locked it with one quick flip of the knob.  I did my happy dance, and I confess I even said “nanny nanny boo boo” in a singsong voice to the Dukester who was still standing on the other side.  I tested my speed on opening, closing and locking the door several times, each time ending with a different salutation to the Duke:  “Love ya, bye!”  “See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!”   “Hey look, I’m in and you’re out!”   It’s the little things in life that make us happy, and I am proud to stand before you and say I am a very happy wife.  And my husband is a very smart – and handy – man.

There are other surprising new developments from the Duke Disaster.  Saturday husband discovered Eeyore buried in some bushes in the back yard!   He was wet and muddy but completely intact and hardly showing signs of trauma.  I’ve already replaced the original Eeyore from a previous Duke invasion - that Eeyore ended up just a pile of cotton stuffing.  I didn’t even list him on my list of casualties, thinking that perhaps I wasn’t meant to have Eeyore on my Pooh Bear and friends shelf.  But here he was, dripping wet and ready to be cleaned and brave the Grandkids Room once again.  This is progress!   This is good news indeed!!

Replacement Grandma Bear came in the mail today, and she is happily adjusting to her new home on the Berenstain Bear books shelf.   She will never know the anxiety of wondering when the Duke will wander in, ready for bear.