As it's half term, and no school for a week, my mornings go something like this:
Mr SM leaves for work.
Mrs SM revels in peace and quiet and having giant bed to self for about ten minutes.
Tiny footsteps are heard creeping down corridor. Door creaks open, and #3 climbs into bed, snuggling up, all warm and cosy and sleepy.
Medium sized footsteps are heard charging down corridor. Door flies open, and #2 dives into bed, curling up on the other side, all rumpled and bouncy and boysy.
Big footsteps are heard stomping down corridor. Door becomes prop in dramatic entree of nearly-a-teenager who pretends, just for a moment, that this mass snuggle fest is way beneath her, then shoves everyone over and climbs in too.
Small, but multiple, footsteps are heard careering down corridor, and an enthusiastic furball who can't believe his luck (pack hugs are his favourite thing. Alongside smelly socks and defenceless cats) dives into the mass of arms and legs, spreading love and dog breath liberally.
For about fifteen minutes (until we start getting hungry), the five of us just hang out, and I feel REALLY LUCKY that there are so many people who think the best place in the world to be in the morning is my bed.
Because it didn't use to be like that.
In the drinking days I would wake up after a fitful, sweaty, restless night feeling grumpy. If a small person came into my room I'd be likely to hide under a pillow, or yell, or both simultaneously.
If I'm ever tempted to crack open the vino I think about my wonderful sober mornings, and I'm just not willing to give them up.
Love to you all,
HUGE CONGRATS to mythreesons on making one year, twelve whole months, 365 one day at a times, sober! Awesome x