Alarm clock goes off. I'd gotten to bed too late last night and slept restlessly. Weird and unremembered dreams. (Which beats the way weirder and unfortunately remembered horrible dream from night before last where I kept finding my baby that I'd completely forgotten about, would take care of her for a few minutes then rush off again to do other things and utterly forget about her existence for several days...over and over again...BAD dream, but I digress).
So, too early I"m batting the alarm clock, trying to decide whether I really want to get up to take a cold shower and go to matins, or not. Not was winning. And then I was getting up for some reason, and decided to take a crack at Matins after all.
Made coffee, had a cold shower (long story...no hot water due to a slab leak that the apartment people are working on), clothes on. Feeling fat. Looking fat, too. Yech.
Time to go, and the youngers wake up and want me to cook porridge before I go.
What kind of mother would I be if I rush out the door to go to prayers while my children are hungry?
So I make the porridge. They are grateful. By now it's ten after, but I'm only three minutes away, so I can get there late.
I head out the door. My oldest stops me. She wants to come, too. Still needs socks and shoes and coat. I wait. What kind of mother would I be if I rush out the door and leave a kid who wants to go to prayers in the dust?
Even later, but we go together.
At least we made it for part of the "More honorable..." bits, the epistle and Gospel readings.
Being there reminded me of why it's worth it to get up and go, though, too; A sparkling point of light in my darkness. So perhaps tomorrow when I'm tempted to hit the snooze button more than once and bury myself under the warm covers, I'll know better.