I am up early. There’s little light and the roosters are having a scolding contest. It’s chilly enough – has been a few mornings now – for a sweater.
I am up early because later there will be the children to save from themselves. An orthodontist appointment, a fifth grade barbecue, a meeting at work, piano lessons. I am up early to get a head start on chores so leaving the house won’t be quite so much of a rush. I’m up early to email a friend: can T stay with you at the barbecue? I have to leave early. Can you take him home with you?
In a little while T will wake up and have toast with cinnamon. He’ll spill cinnamon on the countertop and neglect to wipe it up. I’ll find it a while later, but not before the ants. I’ll sigh and dampen the sponge and wipe the counter clean. I’ll remind myself he’s old enough to wipe up his own spilled cinnamon and I should really teach him how one of these mornings. But not this morning. This morning we have to focus.
I used to be a tea drinker in the mornings. I remember M saying, in the first blush of courtship: “I love you for tea and not coffee.” But tea doesn’t work as well for me anymore. Tea is now an afternoon drink. Tea is sipped in my parents’ living room. With cookies.
When I discovered this morning that all my favorite coffee cups were dirty, I moaned a little bit. I live in fear of magical signs of doom, and dirty favorite coffee cups definitely count.
Soon the masses will come teaming down the stairs. The air is lighter now. More cars pass on the road. The dogs have come down and are gazing at me, wondering why I don’t do something about their needs.
One more sip. And then I’ll start…