You just don’t mess with the routines of babies or old folks. That’s a fact. They get really cranky really fast if you do. Of late, I’ve been called all three – a baby, old, and cranky. Unchanging and predictable – been called that too. Just ask The Wife. This may also be true, but only for two hours out of each day. Read on, Dear Reader. This story is anything but routine.
Mom said a good breakfast is the best way to start any day. Unfortunately, I’ve found the older I get, the longer the trip to the breakfast table seems to take. I’ve learned that, as an adult, a whole lot of stuff has to happen each morning before sitting down to eat – a lot more than when I was growing up at 110 Flamingo Street. But first, I have to wake up or someone or something has to wake me up.
Our dad had a progressive way of waking us up. Not liberal or broad-minded, just progressive. On school days, he’d first open our bedroom door and yell for us to get up — which, of course, we never did.
One cup of coffee later, he’d switch on the lights and yell again for us to get out of bed. After a second cup of coffee, if we still hadn’t gotten up, Dad would come back to our rooms, but he wouldn’t be returning empty-handed. Blankets and sheets would be pulled off, tossed onto the floor, and a very cold wet washcloth would be plastered to each of our faces.
Not only did this finally wake us up, but we also got a head start on washing our faces. Washing dirty little faces – now that was a part of Mom’s morning routine we each had to follow.
Next up: getting dressed. We never took baths in the morning. Dad didn’t want us to go to bed dirty and make Mom wash sheets more often, so we all took baths at night.
For me, getting dressed was the easiest part of the morning. The good thing was Twin Brother Mark and I wore the same clothes. If all mine were dirty, I’d just wear his. The bad part was I got made fun of at school when I did.
I said we wore the same clothes; didn’t say we were the same size. Clean faced and dressed, we ate breakfast that Mom cooked and then walked to school. The start of the walk ended our morning routine.
It’s been a long time since being awakened by a cold, wet washcloth. Still to this day there’s not an alarm clock in our bedroom. So what starts my morning routine?
In our house there are two fuzzy, four-legged alarm clocks that decide every morning we must be up at 4:30 a.m. to attend to their needs. Afterwards, I fumble around trying to get dressed. It’s a whole lot harder now finding clean clothes to wear than when I shared a room with Twin Brother Mark.
The morning routine continues in the kitchen and unloading the dishwasher, or starting it if I’ve forgotten to do so the night before – which I normally do.
Then after gathering all the trash and taking it outside, the search begins for my wallet or keys. On a really hectic morning it’s both and takes another 15 minutes.
My morning routine ends, not with a walk to school, but with an egg biscuit and conversation with friend down at the local coffee house. Total time from waking up to a much-earned biscuit is about two hours.
When I told The Wife how Dad woke us up every morning, she was horrified he used a cold wet washcloth right out of the freezer as a way to make sure we were out of the bed. Then I asked her how her dad woke her up for school.
She replied, “He never really had to, we just got up. Our room was over the garage so when he went to work, the garage door woke us up.”
I asked her why he didn’t just leave the door up at night. She simply smiled. I suddenly realized what her dad’s morning routine had included so many years ago.
Who needs an alarm clock, a wet washcloth, or even a couple of adorable cats when you’re sleeping over a garage?
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is storiesbyrick@gmail.com. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
