“The Sunrise Situation on Sycamore Hills”

If you drive through Sycamore Hills around sunrise, you might see a golden retriever of a man jogging to his car with a smoothie in hand and a smile that should be illegal before daylight. That’s Brian K.;  husband, morning enthusiast, and self-appointed neighborhood alarm clock.

Inside the house, his wife Emily is silently bargaining with the universe for five more minutes of unconsciousness.

 

At 5:30 a.m. sharp, Brian springs to life. He puts on his “Motivation Mix,” flips on every light like he’s signaling the mothership and starts narrating his own morning:

 

“Okay, team we’ve got a big day ahead! Let’s hydrate!”

Emily, still face-down in her pillow, manages a groan that could curdle oat milk.

 

By 5:45, the blender roars to life. Brian’s kale-protein concoction vibrates through every wall of the house. He calls it his “Sunrise Smoothie.” Emily calls it “a personal attack.”

 

Then comes the routine.

While she’s shuffling toward the bathroom in her robe, Brian emerges from the shower like a man in a shampoo commercial, towel-dancing and doing what he swears is a “confidence-building power pose.” The steam follows him down the hallway as he sings “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” to the cat.

 

Emily’s brushing her teeth, eyes barely open, when she feels a mischievous hand on her hip and hears,

“I think I found breakfast today.”

Toothpaste foam. Death stare. Silent prayer for strength.

As she’s attempting eyeliner ; one eye perfect, the other chaos, Brian’s in the next room, half-dressed, belting out The Wheels on the Bus for reasons unknown.

 

“The wipers on the bus go swish, swish, swish!”

“So will you, if you don’t stop,” she yells back, without missing a stroke of mascara.

 

Their morning is a dance; his full of rhythm and optimism, hers more of a hostage situation with dry shampoo.

 

By 7:15, Brian’s zipping around the kitchen like a caffeinated squirrel. He’s packed his gym bag, refilled his smoothie, watered the plants, and given a TED Talk to himself about “mindset.” Emily’s still trying to match socks.

 

When they finally head out the door, he gives her a big cheerful kiss and says,  “Don’t forget, attitude determines altitude!”

She mutters, “Then I’m staying on the ground,” and takes a heroic swig of coffee.

 

Neighbors have learned to tell the time by the sound of Brian’s morning playlist and the door slam that follows it. The whole block has a theory that Emily’s single-handedly keeping Starbucks in business.

 

Still, when Brian’s car pulls away, Emily admits she can’t help smiling. He’s exhausting, sure, but he’s also the only person she knows who can make 6:00 a.m. feel like the opening number of a musical.

 

Because that’s marriage in Fort Wayne, isn’t it?

One person rises with the sun while the other plots against it.

 

So, Summit City, be honest:

Would you survive a Brian in your house?
Or are you the Brian and if so, have your loved ones forgiven you yet?