Git 'er dun.

"I get more done by 8:00 a.m. than you get done all day!"

As Dad would blaze past me with a level or a wrench or a power tool on the way out to the barn or to his truck, this was his typical greeting on a Saturday morning when I'd sleepily shuffle into the kitchen around 9:00 a.m.

I've always been an early riser. At school, I'd hear tales of my friends sleeping until noon or later on the weekends. While this was never physiologically possible for me, 9:00 was my 1:00 and if I slept much later than that, Dad woke me up. Even if we didn't have anything to do or any place to go.

In retrospect, it trained me well for motherhood.

I'd like to think I made it longer than the average mom before collapsing in a teary puddle and admitting that 4 hours of sleep each night isn't enough and I could still form coherent sentences when Harper was 14 months and still not sleeping through the night.

For better or worse, Harper has inherited my ability to rise early and happily. We've learned to take advantage of these extra, non-crowded hours so that we don't land in the grocery store at 2:00 p.m. Rarely does anything fun happen with Harper after 3:00 p.m. 

So, I can boastfully say that usually, we get more done by 8:00 a.m. than some people get done all day. Like.. maybe old people who don't work, or something.

This is what we did, this morning:

Between 5:45 - 6:00, Harper started wiggling and the alarm clock went off. Harper sat with the babysitter (Nick Jr.) while I got us ready to go.  Milk: Check. Coffee: Check. Pants: Check. Then, we drove into DC and dropped Brandon off at work.

An aside: Brandon could easily drive himself to work in his own car, but we go together because between the commute and parking, it means Brandon gets to spend an extra hour/day with Harper.

7:00, we loudly enter the grocery store. Harper knows and greets the morning cashiers and she's on foot since we only have two things to get.  She thoughtfully and carefully cradles her precious Pepperidge Farm cinnamon raisin bread and I carry the milk.  Cause, y'all. It's supposed to snow tonight and I'd be forsaking my Southern roots if I didn't rush out to buy bread and milk. After a somewhat raucous tussle over who gets to enter the pin number, we leave.

An aside: Do you drink organic milk? Not for all the crunchy granola dread-locked tie-dyed hippie reasons, but because it's the fiscally responsible thing to do if you don't drink a lot of it. Because fewer farms produce it, it has to travel farther, so it's super-pasteurized. The gallon I bought this morning has an expiration date of March 11th.

7:20, Dunkin' Doughnuts stop. Harper's yelling "bayyy ull" from the back seat and I take a stab at what that means.

7:30, Bank.

7:45, Gas Station.

7:50, Blockbuster.

7:59, Harper is first in line at the post office.  They open the door one minute early because she's yelling "Haaaay! Knock, knock!" and banging on the door. I hope that was cute to them, instead of annoying. I think most things she does are funny. Like beer goggles. Mom goggles.

When we don't take Brandon to work, we get an early start anyway.  If you're curious, Home Depot and most grocery stores open at 7:00. So do pharmacies. So does Wal-Mart. Target opens at 8:00. Do you know the bliss that is to be the only customers in Target?

For those of you in a profession that require you to wake and begin working anytime prior to 5:30, I sincerely apologize and recognize and appreciate that you want to punch me in the face right now.