My husband finds it fascinating, and a tad peculiar how early I wake up on the weekends. He can’t seem to fathom why I don’t/can’t sleep in, especially when on the weekdays I hit snooze nine million times. Come Saturday morning though I’m out of bed between 6:30 and 7:00 —without an alarm. I, however, have come to love my weekend habit—because in these early morning moments I find myself most grateful for my blessings and for getting the time to just be.
I look forward to throwing on sweat pants and my husbands sweatshirt, pouring a cup of coffee, curling up in his recliner, and sitting in silence—aside from the roosters hello—with nothing to do. I don’t even turn the tv on. I simply sit, I think, I pray, I watch the sunrise, sometimes I read, or journal. I do whatever I want to do without any distractions, without any schedule. It’s my me time. Time to refill, to recharge, time to refocus before the pitter patter of feet come from my daughters bedroom, and the groggy eyed man awakens from his slumber, and wraps me in a hug and asks me, “how early did you get up today?”