Now that the hatchlings are on their summer holidays, our house is a little less frenetic in the mornings. I’m the only ‘child’ Fionnuala has to usher out of the nest, so there is (slightly) less screaming, shouting and general pandemonium. It’s chaos but organised chaos for Mrs Black runs a finely oiled domestic machine, despite my frequent best efforts to throw a spanner in the works.
We now don’t have to get up quite so early and there are less bodies jockeying for access to the bathroom. School uniforms don’t have to be ironed or lunches prepared. There are no school bags to be hurdled on the floor or notes to be written to Mr. Thingy or Mrs What’s Her Face. One thing hasn’t changed though. I still wake up hungry. Useless to all and sundry until I visit the toaster.
They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day and who am I to argue. Like most people, I’m a bit grouchy when my stomach is empty. Normally I consume a cheeky banana while waiting for the bread to pop up, a golden brown vision, all ready for buttering and consumption. After that all is well with the world, until mid morning anyway when the next refuelling is required.
Hobbits had the right idea. No self respecting Baggins or Took would set a large, hairy foot out of their hobbit holes until they had partaken of several breakfasts. It does exactly what it says on the tin, breaking your fast from the day before. Without it, the tank is empty and seizing days is frankly out of the question. These ‘I don’t do breakfast’ types leave me baffled. I simply couldn’t function without food first thing.
I appreciate we are all different but if I were a visitor at your house and you offered me a solitary cup of coffee the following morning, I’m afraid you would get a strange look or seven. At weekends Fionnuala has accused me of refusing to surface until I hear the sound of sausages sizzling and their aroma wafting up the stairs. This, of course, is an outrageous allegation which I vehemently deny. Ahem….
We all need something to get out of bed for in the morning. It can be sizzling sausages or a variety of more serious motivating factors. It can be family, friends, work or all three rolled into one big satisfying ball. But there needs to be an accelerant to fire our engines and coerce us into throwing back the bedcovers no matter how daunting a proposition that might seem. We only have so many revolutions on this earth.
We must use them wisely, squeezing every last drop of value from each one. Depression and anxiety often materialise as a lethargy to face life and the myriad of challenges it presents. Their victims choose to opt out, to stay in bed and hide away from the big, bad world. The hunger is gone, the inner spark which propels us up and out the door every morning. Hunger has many negative connotations but when it comes to living, we all need to hear our bellies growl now and again.
I’m writing this from bed. All is quiet, the alarm clock is yet to sound and herald another day of ‘adulting.’ Well, I say quiet, but Woody Woodpecker is already gently tapping at my stomach, suggesting I get up and raid the kitchen cupboards. His incessant nudges will only increase in frequency and force unless I slither from under the sheets soon. I’m hungry for another crack at life. Are you?
What’s your favourite breakfast?
What makes you get out of bed in the morning?