Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Don't Meet Me In the Morning

This morning, the Mr. came into our bedroom and cheerily announced, "OK! TIME TO GET UP!" I pulled the pillow over my head to drown him out. "TIME TO GET UP!"

I sat up and said, "Why? It's 9:30. Why do I have to get up?" and then I threw myself back down and covered my head.

"No, no...I said, 'Rufus, it's time to go out!' " Hey, it sounds kind of the same.

But the damage had already been done. I tried to close my eyes, but all I could think about was the way my mother used to burst into my room in the morning and sing her little mornin'-lovin' heart out. Before we joined the Mormon church when I was eight, she had one standard:

Good morning to you! Good morning to you!
You look like a monkey,
You smell like one, too!

She would run around the room, her eyes all bright and cheery, dancing and clapping, ripping the covers off my bed and taking utter delight in my increasing anger. After we joined the Mormon church, she picked up a new catalog with which to torture me. Whereas the Catholics have droning, solemn hymns that don't really lend themselves to torturing your child at the crack of dawn, the Mormons have some totally catchy ditties that still find themselves stuck in my head years later. I've said goodbye to the church, but the songs, they remain. Each morning before school, mom employed every one of them over the course of the year, not because she was super into it but only because she knew it drove me crazy:

The Lord said to Noah, "There's gonna be a floody, floody."
The Lord said to Noah, "There's gonna be a floody floody."
Get those children (CLAP!) out of the muddy, muddy
Children of the Lord

and

I hope they send me on a mission
when I have grown a foot or two
I hope to be a missionary
to teach and preach and work
as missionaries do!

It's kind of a cop-out to blame your parents for everything wrong in your life, but I totally blame my mom for why I'm not a morning person at all.