I've been nursing a bad cough and a sinus infection for the past few weeks, so I haven't been very inspired to do anything, let alone blog. I've worked through three days of antibiotics, though, so I'm feeling the haze lift. In fact, I've got about three or four blogs brewing in my head already this morning.
So let's start with this morning. Or any given weekday morning. My alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. I snooze it for 10 minutes, and on the second alarm, I get up and greet the cat, who is already waiting outside my door for her breakfast. We go downstairs, where the dogs start dancing around in their crate, way too excited for the hour. They head outside first, then come in to dishes full of kibble. The cat is already well into hers. After breakfast, they're routed back outside.
About 6:50, I head back upstairs to stir the little darlings. Mia first. I open her shade and try to talk her awake, but she doesn't budge until I give her a gentle shake. Then she growls and tries hard to ignore me. She's like trying to wake my sister, who could bite off your hand if you're not careful in the morning.
Over in the boys room, same routine. Shade open, morning greetings. Will sits up and smiles. "Good morning, Mommy," every day. Max dives under his covers or says things like, "Can I just skip school today?" (He's in Kindergarten, mind you. What does that mean for high school?) This morning, he tried to hide a smile while fake snoring.
I give a shout to Mia to get her moving.
Then I pick out Will's clothes because his morning goal is to get dressed in his bed before touching his feet to the floor. There was a day when choices like this would completely vex me, but I've come to realize that pre-pubescent boys do these kinds of things. They're just weird like that. (I made him gag this morning with some moldy tomatillos, and I think that was the highlight of his day so far.)
Another shout to Mia because it's highly likely she hasn't moved. Then I drag a protesting Max out of bed and help him dress, always with some random topic of conversation. Today: "July sure was a long month."
"Months are mostly all the same, Max."
"Well, July went a lot slower than September." [Just a reminder that today is October 27, so I'm not sure why July, or September....]
A final shout to Mia before the boys and I head downstairs for breakfast. She generally follows in another 5-10 minutes, unable to speak much before she eats her daily bowl of cereal.
Wondering where Tom is? He's still in bed, trying to ignore the noise. Funny how he doesn't move a muscle when my alarm goes off. Invariably, though, we hear the floors squeak upstairs long about 7:15. He ambles down and heads directly for the coffee. I've learned not to speak much to him before coffee. Mia hasn't figured that out yet, and any morning efforts directed toward Dad usually require me to put on my referee uniform. Until that coffee warms him up.
To his credit, he's always up to walk everyone out to the bus and to bring in the newspaper. I love to watch the kids walk our long driveway out to the bus. From that distance, I’m always awed that "Wow, those are my kids."
Will runs like he's in a race (which he probably is in his own head). Max often skips. Mia walks behind her brothers like she's herding sheep with a crook. Surely, she's instructing them to do something.
And the house sighs and goes quiet.