September 19: Peculiar Flavor, Torch, Morning People

"Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?" asked Scrooge.

"There is.  My own."

"Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?" asked Scrooge.

"To any kindly given.  To a poor one most."

Scrooge is speaking to the Ghost of Christmas Present, who spends a good deal of his time sprinkling Christmas dinners and revellers with some kind of magic dust from the torch he carries.  Scrooge never really finds out exactly what the Ghost is distributing from the torch, but, whatever it is, it has the power to make angry people happy and joyful people joyfuller (yes, I went there).

I just got off the phone with my daughter and wife.  My daughter was heading out to catch the school bus, and my wife was getting ready to go to work.  My three-year-old son was sitting on the couch, whining at anybody who came within ten feet of him.  None of my immediate family are very pleasant in the morning.  They snap.  They snarl.  They complain.  They stomp.  They slam doors.  It's like talking to the Osbournes in the morning.  If my son ripped off his diaper and crapped in the middle of the living room floor, I think I'd start calling his Ozzy.

I always call home before my daughter goes to school.  I've been doing it since she was in kindergarten.  It used to be one of my favorite things to do in the morning.  Now, it just causes me stress.  My daughter is surly.  My son is crabby.  My wife is snappy.  I still call, but the questions I ask usually receive monosyllabic responses that aren't really words.

ME:  Are you ready for your math test?

DAUGHTER:  Unnnnnnnn.

ME:  Are you excited to ride the school bus?

SON:  Snarf.

ME:  Have a good day in the classroom.

WIFE:  Huuuh?

I have never been a morning person, but my wife, daughter, and son are vampires.  They don't want to face the day, especially if it entails being friendly and nice, or, at the very least, civil.  They all need a sprinkle from the torch of the Ghost of Christmas Present.  I'm not a saint when it comes to waking up.  I'm not a saint when it comes to being pleasant.  I'm not a saint until after about 10 a.m.

But Saint Marty is Mother Teresa compared to his family.

My son and a pet