"Mummy, put Dora."  "Put it NOOOOOW". "Amreen, do you know if there are razors?" "Do I have clean socks?" "Mummy, I want Dora."  "Sweetheart, is there clean laundry folded downstairs?"  The blaring siren of questions bombard me in a violent cacophony as I burrow further beneath the covers.

It's 5:45am in my house, and I am not a morning person.  My husband, my two kids, and my visiting Dad are, however, morning people from the most intense morning-loving end of the spectrum.  Not only are they energetic in the a.m., but they are happy, bright-eyed, and eager to start the glorious day.

Uggh.  All I want at 6am is for everyone to go away and give me two more hours of sleep. Is that so wrong?  In many cultures, 8am is a highly civilized wake-up time. In fact, in some societies (like those made up exclusively of teenagers) it's darn early.

Their cheerful faces stare at me with a lack of comprehension. "Mummy, why are you so tired?"  How can I tell them that I long to be like them? I long to embrace the dawn and jump joyously from my peaceful slumber.  I daydream of what I would accomplish as a morning person - I would most definitely run on the treadmill or do enlightening and complicated yoga.  I would make smoothies with organic strawberries and wheat germ. I would write humorous anecdotes and insightful comments in my journal.  The possibilities are endless...and will remain fictional and eternally hypothetical.

For now, caffeine permits me to engage (in a limited fashion, mind you) in the raucous morning activity of my home.  Work and family beckon as my morning alarm buzzes away at 5:30.  Eventually, the sweet energy of my kids becomes infectious and I embrace this opportunity to snuggle and play before the crazy day begins.