Each morning I awaken around 5. I drift in and out of sleep until I eventually begin to listen for sounds of stirring from the bedroom across the hall; the creak of the bed and little feet on the floor. This happens every morning almost invariably at 7 o'clock. I move over to the side of the bed and pull back the covers. T climbs in, eyes still closed, and puts his arm around his Papa and his legs over mine. I brush aside his hair, lay my face against his soft little cheek, and whisper "I love you" into his ear.
After while, I slip out of bed and tiptoe down the hall to the kitchen. I put the teapot on the stove and stand for a moment under the glow of the string of lights above the cupboards. I relish the early morning silence, the newness of the day. I get flashes of a dream, but I can't remember more. A very golden sun is just starting to hit a small patch of the back yard, and I walk outside to look at the sparkling frost on the grass until the whistling teapot calls me back inside to make the coffee. As it steeps, I pull open the front curtains. My car shimmers in its frosty coat. Little Bit, the neighbors' cat, gingerly walks across the fence. All else is quiet and still.
I tiptoe back to the bedroom with two cups of steaming coffee, and my husband says a sleepy "good morning" as I set his down. I gently slip back into bed, pull up the covers, and feel my boy's hand take mine.
After while, I slip out of bed and tiptoe down the hall to the kitchen. I put the teapot on the stove and stand for a moment under the glow of the string of lights above the cupboards. I relish the early morning silence, the newness of the day. I get flashes of a dream, but I can't remember more. A very golden sun is just starting to hit a small patch of the back yard, and I walk outside to look at the sparkling frost on the grass until the whistling teapot calls me back inside to make the coffee. As it steeps, I pull open the front curtains. My car shimmers in its frosty coat. Little Bit, the neighbors' cat, gingerly walks across the fence. All else is quiet and still.
I tiptoe back to the bedroom with two cups of steaming coffee, and my husband says a sleepy "good morning" as I set his down. I gently slip back into bed, pull up the covers, and feel my boy's hand take mine.
I smile.