Growing up, morning's in my house were less than sensational. My little sister and I each had a fair amount of quirky tenacity that always spiced life up a bit. A typical AM before elementary school usually involved one of the following:
A) My father and I getting into an argument because, for some reason as an 8-year-old, I refused to brush the back of my hair. I would brush the front and sides, leaving the back in a knotted, fro-ed, cow-licked mess...and I liked it that way.
B) My mother bribing my little sister with either an M&M or a dime to use the bathroom before she hopped on the bus, because she firmly refused to use the bathroom at school. She would rather come home whining with stomach cramps before risking certain embarrassment in the Akiva Academy little girl's room. I still fondly remember the gum-ball machine full of dimes on her dresser that she probably cashed in for the hot new Polly Pocket of '92.
C) Sunday morning screaming matches between parents and children because we quite simply could not bear another week of Sunday School. I can look back and laugh at many of my childhood idiosyncrasies, but not this one. Mom and Dad, if you read my blog, Sunday School at Rodef Sholom was the equivalent of being forcefully subjected to 1,000 witch nails scratching chalkboards while trapped in a cage in Death Valley. You still couldn't pay me to go. Several times, my dad had to pull me from the back seat of the car while I dug my nails into the seat cushion so deeply that I left scratch marks.
But enough from the negative perspective. We definitely had our share of joyous early risings...particularly if mom was making breakfast. For years, her specialty was French Toast. She knew just the right combination of batter, bread and frying time. Then, for one of my parent's anniversaries, my dad bought her a full-on professional waffle maker. Unfortunately for me, I'd already moved 3,000 miles away from Youngstown to Los Angeles. I finally got my chance to have my way with that waffle maker, and we made hot, sweet love all Christmas morning. I walked out of the kitchen sweaty and satisfied...a far cry from the Sunday School mornings, indeed.