I am not a morning person. I have a terrible time getting up at 5:30 am for my job, and it takes me twice as long to get ready as it would if I could get up at 8:30. My brain doesn't work properly at that hour, and I often forget things I need or end up making several trips upstairs because I forgot something (my watch, my earrings, a hair clip, my socks, my shoes...). I am, as my husband so eloquently puts it, a soup sandwich in the mornings. (On really bad mornings, I am what he calls a soup sandwich wrapped in oatmeal.)
So this morning was unique in that I felt like it was a pretty smooth preparation for my day. It may be because I woke up on my own about 10 minutes before my alarm went off (well, actually about 45 minutes before. Then about 30 minutes before. Then about 22 minutes before....) instead of being shocked awake by KISS's morning crew.
As I made coffee and a bowl of cereal and actually sat down at the kitchen table with my breakfast and a chapter of my book, and as I prepared my lunch and packed my bag for the day, I looked around my kitchen and thought "Wow. I live in a grown up house."
Four years ago I was convinced by a friend to attend my high school reunion. At the time, my life looked very different. I was single, living on my own in a 600 sq ft condo in the city that I had worked my ass off to buy. I was enjoying the single life, going out dancing with friends, having lots of dates with various guys to cool restaurants, concerts and sporting events.... This was something that was not very unique to the women in my age group where I was living. However, 1500 miles away in my hometown, most of my former classmates had been married for quite some time and had at least one child.
The day after our reunion (which, contrary to my own predictions, was tons of fun- especially since I looked fabulous, if I do say so myself. Something that was NOT often true about me in high school...) I was invited with some other former classmates to Michelle's house. Michelle was a girl with who I was friends only in my senior year when we participated in very selective class. (There were only 13 of us in the class and we got very close for that year.) Michelle had married a man who was about 12 years older than her and they had 2 sons. They both had successful jobs in some sort of financial work and their house was in a "community" on a golf course.
I remember walking into their gorgeous house, with it's oriental rugs and matching furniture, and thinking "Wow. This is really a grown up house." You know, the kind you think of your parents owning, not your peers.
Four years and a whirlwind later, it appears I have my own grown up house. We don't have oriental rugs (not really my style). We're still working on the matching furniture (though we do have a very nice living room set and our kitchen is awesome). And as for kids- well, I've discussed that already. But we definitely have set up quite a grown up house. I guess 33 is a pretty good age to reach that goal. :)
Do genes matter?
3 days ago