stumble out of bed

On Thursday, on the way to visit my sister in Alabama, my mom, my other sister, and I stopped at Dolly Parton’s Tennessean Travel Stop. We needed a bathroom break just as I saw a billboard promoting Dolly’s gas station that I had heard a lot about, so I eagerly recommended that we stop there. We (including my mom, who has been there before) were delighted by the butterfly-themed merch and the glamorous photos of Dolly in the bathroom.

In need of caffeine, I was especially glad that there was a coffee shop; I was even more glad to see it was called Cup of Ambition. I got a delicious iced vanilla latte, which I photographed in front of “9 to 5” lyrics on the wall.

Ask my husband and he’ll tell you: When a song gets stuck in my head, I typically sing the same few words over and over and over again. I shouldn’t even type my longest-running earworm for fear that it’ll start again (it’s the titular clause of “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” by Taylor Swift).

So, obviously, as we got back on the road, I repeatedly sang the beginning of “9 to 5.” Except I got it wrong every time: I kept singing, “Stumble out of bed and I tumble to the kitchen,” which got us picturing and laughing at what that stumbling and tumbling might look like.

It’s not hard to imagine myself stumbling out of bed; I am not a morning person. I’m particularly tired today, after a busy but good few days of traveling and spending time with family. There are still plenty of things to do and places to go in the next few months, but this feels like a turning point in our household—when we trade out our summer habits and schedules for the fall. Because of Loui’s busy pickleball schedule for six months out of the year, I joke that we have the calendar of Hades and Persephone, with Loui spending half the year away from me. So I’m looking forward to fall—the season, not a stumble or tumble.