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

So, it’s ironic that early morning has become my favoritetime 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, drinkcoffee, look at the paper, and talk. It’s so nice, I can’t tell you. A brief honeymoon of not hurrying; allhis attention to myself, without having to compete with every other demand onhis 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 weput down the papers and talk about the weather, the news, the kids, ourfamilies, and life.  We save up storiesand news from the previous day, and throw out questions and problems to beworked 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 thenorth. We’ve learned from each other, and Donald appreciates a good rebuttal; itmakes him proud.

We’ve otherwise done a bad job of “couple time” in ourrelationship, despite the warnings/ encouragements of our mothers. There’s solittle free time outside of work. For one, sports. This year, the Bantam teamschedule (my son played, my husband coached) was pretty much every Friday nightand Saturday night Sept. through April. In essence, our “date” was him on thebench, me in the bleachers, with a hundred other players and parents – we weretogether, no?  In addition, like so manyfriends, 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 pajamaswith our coffee cups. So lovely when the sun streams in; so cozy when it’s coldand raw outside.  In essence, it’s abusiness meeting, a “briefing” if you will, on our individual and familyactivities: money, dates, projects, action lists. In another way, we are forthe moment, the joint rulers of our little kingdom, both governing our subjectsand serving our constituents; deciding on moral and fiscal policies – the rulesof the house.  In the end, it’s all aboutcommunication. Or more so, making time to communicate. At 7:30 on a weekdaymorning, you may find us debating politics or deciding dinner, communicatingloud and clear.