Mornings at the Holland House

Mornings at the Holland house come early, 5:30 to be precise. And while Simon is not our only pet, he is the one who has upset and reshaped our morning routine, sounding his anticipation well in advance of the alarm, galloping through the house toward the yard, sending walloping vibrations through the floorboards, through the bedposts and springs and mattresses and pillows to the unsuspecting ears of all who dare to eke a bit more sleep.

Thankfully, my husband has been a good sport about all of this. My appreciation grows daily because I can't help feeling sorry for him, head buried beneath mountains of pillows -- his futile attempt to muffle those thundering, behemoth paws heard dashing from food bowls to chew toys to our son's discarded socks. Still, I'm beginning to enjoy these mornings. I enjoy witnessing the rippling surges and shudders of pure joy as Simon bounds wide-eyed and ready toward the day. It's hilarious! It's infectious. And it's gotten me thinking...

Shouldn't we all greet our mornings more like Simon, eager to discover what today has in store, rather than stumbling bleary-eyed toward our lime-scaled coffee pots, scratching our asses and grumbling about whatever we have allowed to steal our joy? Slowly but surely, I'm waking up to this idea.