Years ago, I used to say to the boys, “It’s my favorite time of day – pajama time!”  And of course, they thought it was corny and strange. Who wanted to go to bed? And what’s the big deal about pajamas?  As a new mother, I craved sleep, and couldn’t wait to kick off my shoes, unbutton the pants and unclip the bra. Ah, relaxation. There’s nothing like a comfortable robe and a worn pair of slippers.  I’m a girl who loves her sleep, even today. By which I mean, a well placed nap, and sleeping in until eight or nine. Of course, I adjusted to work schedules and then, baby schedules, but not easily or all that willingly. I had assumed aging would take care of things My mother’s side of the family are all early-risers, but I did not get that gene.  Each and every day, I groan when the alarm goes off at 6:00 or 6:30. Unlike many people, I’m not programmed to wake up at the same time every day. It’s a struggle, and most likely will remain so. Sigh, sigh, kvetch, kvetch…

So, it’s ironic that early morning has become my favorite time of day. Quite unexpectedly, and without any kind of plan.  After the boys are out of the house by 7:15, my husband, Donald, and I have about 30 to 45 minutes of time to sit, drink coffee, look at the paper, and talk.  It’s so nice, I can’t tell you. A brief honeymoon of not hurrying; all his attention to myself, without having to compete with every other demand on his time, and he has many, many, many. 

 Breakfast is out of the way. We “retire” to the living room, he on the recliner, I take the sofa. We peruse the paper a few minutes. Then we put down the papers and talk about the weather, the news, the kids, our families, and life.  We save up stories and news from the previous day, and throw out questions and problems to be worked over. My husband, the lawyer, comes from one of the “arguing cultures”, i.e., Mediterranean types, known for their opinions as well as their food. Me, the bland food, “don’t say anything; brood and keep it inside” people of the north. We’ve learned from each other, and Donald appreciates a good rebuttal; it makes him proud.

We’ve otherwise done a bad job of “couple time” in our relationship, despite the warnings/ encouragements of our mothers. There’s so little free time outside of work. For one, sports. This year, the Bantam team schedule (my son played, my husband coached) was pretty much every Friday night and Saturday night Sept. through April. In essence, our “date” was him on the bench, me in the bleachers, with a hundred other players and parents – we were together, no?  In addition, like so many friends, our vacations and outings have been almost exclusively family events, i.e., with kids. Not sure how that evolved.

 Now, 7:15 until about 8:00 am is our time: in our pajamas with our coffee cups. So lovely when the sun streams in; so cozy when it’s cold and raw outside.  In essence, it’s a business meeting, a “briefing” if you will, on our individual and family activities: money, dates, projects, action lists. In another way, we are for the moment, the joint rulers of our little kingdom, both governing our subjects and serving our constituents; deciding on moral and fiscal policies – the rules of the house.  In the end, it’s all about communication. Or more so, making time to communicate. At 7:30 on a weekday morning, you may find us debating politics or deciding dinner, communicating loud and clear.