It's 6:11 a.m. The house is so quiet. It's always quiet, but this morning's quiet has contrast.
Last night's contrast has left evidence in every room. As I walk silently out of our bedroom, each door is shut. The hall light lamps on the lightest setting are glowing as night lights.
I walk into the living room, and the couch pillows have become a fort enclosing the space between the coffee table and the edge of the couch. A walk through the family room is a cluttered space since the toy cupboard doors are open and its treasures fan throughout the room.
A door pops open. Two little boys creep out. They head straight for grandpa.
Last night Tony went to bed extra early. "I don't know when the children will get up," he wisely planned for the inevitable. The inevitable was 6:46 a.m.
The baby in the study calls out. I hope it's just an early morning whimper in her half sleep. She returns to silence--until 6:53. Indeed the day will start early.
No matter that the house is still dark.
A small figure waves to me from the top of the stairs.
"Hello beautiful creature."
Beautiful creature number one runs down the stairs and hops onto the couch next to me. "What are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm writing. Do you want me to read it to you?"
Silence. "You can read it," I suggest.
"I don't want to read it."
He jumps off the couch, barrel rolls and scurries up the stairs. I imagine Tony cuddled in between, tickling their limbs to coax them back to sleep.
Ha!
Within minutes, toilets flush, water faucets burst. Tony carries the baby down the stairs.
First grader jumps back on the couch and announces what he wants for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Our day has begun.
Last night's contrast has left evidence in every room. As I walk silently out of our bedroom, each door is shut. The hall light lamps on the lightest setting are glowing as night lights.
I walk into the living room, and the couch pillows have become a fort enclosing the space between the coffee table and the edge of the couch. A walk through the family room is a cluttered space since the toy cupboard doors are open and its treasures fan throughout the room.
A door pops open. Two little boys creep out. They head straight for grandpa.
Last night Tony went to bed extra early. "I don't know when the children will get up," he wisely planned for the inevitable. The inevitable was 6:46 a.m.
The baby in the study calls out. I hope it's just an early morning whimper in her half sleep. She returns to silence--until 6:53. Indeed the day will start early.
No matter that the house is still dark.
A small figure waves to me from the top of the stairs.
"Hello beautiful creature."
Beautiful creature number one runs down the stairs and hops onto the couch next to me. "What are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm writing. Do you want me to read it to you?"
Silence. "You can read it," I suggest.
"I don't want to read it."
He jumps off the couch, barrel rolls and scurries up the stairs. I imagine Tony cuddled in between, tickling their limbs to coax them back to sleep.
Ha!
Within minutes, toilets flush, water faucets burst. Tony carries the baby down the stairs.
First grader jumps back on the couch and announces what he wants for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Our day has begun.
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