Winter mornings ask something different of me. 

The light comes later. The house stays quiet longer. The world doesn’t rush me into my to-do lists and plans the way it does in the warmer months. And yet, I often feel the urge to fight it: to turn on every light, to hurry my body awake, to expect myself to move at summer speed.

But winter resists that kind of striving.

January has a way of telling us who we should be. Quiet and calm. Ambitious and ready. Rested or reinvented. Which way, exhausted mom?