What I Didn't Learn From My Aunt Charlotte

 

One amazing thing about my Aunt Charlotte, and there are many, is that she wakes up happy. At least she used to when I was a kid. It is possible that she heard my cousins and me coming and got time to wake up and compose herself but I would swear that you could wake her up and she would be smiling. She had great dimples, they would be showing, and she would say good morning and even call us something nice like sweetie or darling. 

            Now there are morning people and not morning people. 

My mother never said, “Good morning,” because for her morning and good don’t go in the same sentence. For me either. I might be hospitable and all, but don’t expect me to roll out any hospitality red carpet before 10Am. It is impossible. I’ve tried to make my brain work before ten and I just can’t. My mother never could either. We can’t even smile before 10.

So you can imagine my shock when we woke up Aunt Charlotte, and she smiled just as if she were glad to see us. Maybe she faked it. She’d talked most of the night to her siblings at my grandfather’s house. Understand that by talk I mean they’d argued about everything and then they had gone to bed at three or four in the morning, thoroughly happy with each other and the stimulating conversation. 

Only to be awakened by us a few hours later.

Now I have to tell you that waking my mother for a ride to school was taking your life in your hands. My mother did not function so early in the morning. She was a night owl, which never worked so well with us kids who wanted a ride the whole mile to school. It seemed like too far to walk, honest it did. We used to dare each other to wake her.

So when we woke Aunt Charlotte and she smiled, it seemed miraculous. Then she would agree to take us swimming or somewhere fun later in the day. She was sweet and pleasant, and I was in awe. She set a high standard for me: to be the mom that woke up smiling. 

I never quite made it. The best I could do was stand in the kitchen holding my coffee cup while my three kids bustled around and got ready for school. Maybe I made lunch three or four times in their school careers. I did drive them to school occasionally, but they never expected me to talk. 

Recently Margaret told me that she used to hate waking me up from my Sunday after noon nap. She was afraid of her dear mother. I definitely do not wake up smiling. 

I have to hand it to my Aunt Charlotte. I have a lovely mental picture of her, with her dimpled smile and tousled hair, but I still have a hard time believing anybody can wake up that sweet and happy.