I've never been a morning person. I suffer from insomnia, I usually go to bed much later than I should, and I am slow to wake up, so morning is rarely my friend. In my younger days, I fought my way into consciousness each morning with the brute force of sheer willpower. As I reached the end of my 30s, I learned that artificial assistance, in the form of a cup of coffee, was invaluable. In my early 40s, after giving birth to two children, I learned that artificial assistance, in the form of multiple cups of coffee, was critical.
As much as I adore seeing the beloved faces of my husband and my children in the morning, the sight that I most need to see when I first open my eyes (or attempt to get up without actually opening them) is this one.
You can see that they are literally calling my name.
Once I have filled them with the glorious nectar of the gods that is coffee, then I can face my beloved family. Once they have fulfilled their sacred duty of delivering their precious load of caffeine into my system, I can begin my day. They are merely vessels, but without them I could not possibly survive the morning.