Makin' the best of a cat-stinkin', coffee-scorchin', sleep-deprived morning

On one of those mornings when my eyes flap open at 3:15 a.m., the enormous cat sleeping next to my face smells like hot fried yarf, and the stopped-up coffeepot boils over and makes the countertop look like the inside of a Wooly Willy game, I have to confess to beginning the day with a teensy chip on my shoulder.

This is what mommy and daddy used to play with before our toys were more intelligent than us.

While I'd relish the opportunity to remain cocooned in the bedclothes with a cup of honeyed chamomile and a few pages of James Herriot (sans the fragrant Miss Daphne), I realize that the responsibility game waits for no one.  Today must begin, and it might as well be a good one.

There's always happiness to be found, if one knows where to search! 

I'll begin by simply gazing out my bedroom window:

...and then I'll quietly patter downstairs and lend a flame to the wishful-autumn-thinking scented candle...

...wake the little popsnorkles and let them flee into the wild for some morning relief...

...bring the gentleman of the house and the father of my baby some coffee (the second round, post-coffeepot explosion) and kiss his eyelids good morning... 

...and then catch a glimpse of the winter boots I couldn't resist buying for our winter-due sweetheart...

 

....and get my groove back on.

Bonus round for you, gentle reader:

Goobery baby Heather!