Sunday, April 8, 2018

Easy like a Sunday morning

Imagine it. It's a quiet Sunday morning. I peacefully wake in the early hours of the morning. The house is quiet as I carefully pad my way to the kitchen. The kitchen is clean and I make the most wonderful cup of coffee. I peacefully sip my coffee at the kitchen table as the sun rises. I flip through a magazine or read a chapter or two of whatever book I'm working on. Maybe a child or two wakes and joins me, contentedly coloring at the table or *gasp* reading their own book.

This has happened approximately one time, and it was glorious. So glorious that I'm a little sorry that I experienced it, for the contrast of what my Sunday mornings usually look like. I'm awoken in the wee hours by a whisper-screamed, "MOM! Why did you let me sleep on the couch?!" (spoiler alert: because she's heavy, I'm lazy, and I had no intention of trying to navigate the minefield that is her bedroom floor.) Then one, or more, of my unwashed children crawls into bed with us and proceeds to flop about like a dying fish for as long as it takes for me to remember that this is never a sweet, peaceful cuddling experience.

So then I shuffle to my kitchen, where I push aside all the crap leftover from our movie night the night before. Rather than my serene pinterest vision, it's reminiscent of a college apartment, only with more produce. I make a pot of coffee that, although it's passable, never tastes as good as that one time that I made the best coffee ever and promptly forgot everything that went into it. I debate between trying to hide at the kitchen table or in a corner of the couch and settle at the table. It's slightly less cluttered, and besides one of my children has inexplicably grown seven sizes, so that her barely 4 foot tall body somehow occupies 2/3 of my approximately 14 feet of couch. Two dogs occupy the other 1/3. Her sister is stomping around the house, righteously indignant about some slight that happened probably before she was even born, but I'll never know because rather than tell me what's wrong she just yells, "My life is ruined!" My sweet tween, who smells like a man but still likes to hug his mom, ambles out of his room with questions of how I intend to entertain them for the day. This one at least has learned to read my response and quickly retreats back to his room.

The girls have made up and play a raucous game of "butt scoot" which seems to consist of dragging each other around on the floor. I hiss "QUIET!" as there are still some members of this family who are able to continue sleeping. They do not quiet, but they do change activities. Now they're working together on an art project that uses both computer paper and glitter, and quite honestly, I'm letting them for the sole reason that they aren't needing me for anything. The boy is in his room pretending like I don't know that he's on his phone even though we have a "no screens first thing in the morning" rule. The dogs are sleeping in the girls' bed and probably chewing on their blankets or covering their sheets with slobber. I promise that I will regret this later, but for now I'm going to make another passable cup of coffee.

1 comment:

  1. I laughed out loud and missed you so much reading this. ❤