Some days I wake up as Attila the Hun. I crack an angry eyelid as my temples pound and acid surges through my veins. Even my morning breath is fierce.
Usually this means two things have happened, in succession:
1. I went to bed too late. (After 11 equals too late. I'm almost 31, folks.)
2. Certain members of The Progeny thought it a swell idea to carry on and stampede about like buffalo just outside my bedroom door. Gazelle stampedes I can deal with. Cattle's pushing it. Upgrade to buffalo, and I'm The Scourge of God.
Luckily for the survival statistics of The Progeny, I know that at least half of the above equation is my fault. So I usually limit the Attilaness to a Eurasian glare in their general direction on my way to the shower.
Showers cure everything.
I get clean, yes, and shear off that underarm prickle and scrub the nappiness from my hair. Plus, showers persuade me into consciousness with a hot massage and deep breaths of soap-scented water vapor. But mostly, showers wash off all that attitude.
Goodbye Attila, hello Mother Teresa. Well, that might be exaggerating the case. Oprah, then.
So first on the thankful list: a hot shower. My kids don't realize it, but they're very thankful for this one too.
Stay tuned for more gratitude.
*If your week starts on Sunday, good for you. Mine started today.
"I am ready."
8 hours ago