If you know anything about my life, you know that I am routinely awake by 6 a.m. - or earlier. Not only awake, but usually doing something relatively productive, like getting my kids ready for their day, making breakfast, working out with my girlfriends in the park near our house, or squeezing in a few emails before heading into the office. By the time most of my friends and co-workers see me, I've been up for a couple of hours, and am fairly wide-eyed and cheery. But here's the thing: I am not a morning person by nature. Not remotely. And definitely not on weekends. On weekends, I tend to long for the days of my distant past when I could sleep in as late and as long as my little heart desired, and the most pressing item on my Saturday/Sunday agenda was choosing where to eat brunch.
When that longing hits me, there are a few things that help me get over my (self-pitying) crankiness: Waking up to hugs and kisses from my sweet little boy and 4-year-old twins. Grabbing a few precious extra minutes of sleep while my husband - who is totally a morning person - attempts to keep our wide-awake kids quiet. And a big, satisfying, restaurant-style breakfast.