I’m a big fan of routines and rules for kids. I think children thrive when they’re given age-appropriate parameters. As such, mine have always had a bedtime (which is very loose in the summer, by the way).
But this post isn’t about them. It’s about me.
If you ask my parents, they will tell you that I have never been a fan of having a bedtime for myself. From climbing out of the crib to protesting as a teenager, I’ve preferred staying up as late as my body would let me. I can’t count the hours I’ve read great books into the dark beginnings of the next day.
Of course, life hasn’t made being a night owl easy for me. First, there were those pesky commitments, like college classes and working in an office, that required me to drag my tired self out of bed and show up like a grown-up. Then, of course, came kids. They have no respect whatsoever for my sleeping/waking preferences, and for several years I walked around in a slightly-asleep-even-though-I’m-vertical state. But then the kids got a little older, and some sense of normalcy returned. I could stay up later, albeit (almost) never as late as the college days, and still manage to get enough sleep to function.
And then came this year. My friends warned me months ago, when their oldest children were leaving for school around 7Am, that I was in for a rude awakening. I believed them, but what could I do? How could I possibly get to bed before 11:30 or 12:00? When would I get things done?
And yet, here I am, waking at 6:05 and shuffling through the first hours of the day, drinking Earl Gray like it’s water, doing my best to be human. The kids leave and my day officially starts. This week, I haven’t stopped “doing” all day, every day. It’s a bit of an aberration, I know, since there are all kinds of back-to-school functions that won’t be part of my regular routine. But if I want to be able to get to bed earlier, I figure I have to get all of my work–work-related and home-related and school-related–done before the kids re-enter the house. I finally made time for a run this morning, but I haven’t read a single page of my book or watched a single minute of TV all week.
The only solution I can think of is that I must establish a grown-up bedtime for myself that does not begin with the numbers 11 or 12. Bah! It’s almost unfathomable, but Lord, I’m afraid of what life will look like otherwise. I’d love to watch Seinfeld open Jay Leno’s new show on Monday night, but will I be able to stay awake? It’s pathetic!
Are you an early bird? I’m looking for tips! If your head hits the pillow early at night in order to rise early in the morning, how do you make it happen on a regular basis? All advice, practical and humorous, is welcome. I could use a good laugh. And some sleep.
