morning time

Steve's alarm goes off just after six and I have to elbow him awake to silence it for fear that the short people we have living with us will hear it and wake up early. Inevitably, one of them arrives at 6:15, climbs up onto the bed and snuggles in with us. If it is the girl, she slides in between and waits the obligatory three minutes before requesting PBS. If it is the boy, which is rare, he climbs up onto my side and in one motion is under the covers and snuggled right against me. By the time the TV goes on, Sid the Science Kid is yelling into his microphone about simple machines or what leaves do and I am wide awake. While Steve gets ready, I wrap my arms around those tiny beings and marvel at their length, their weight against my shoulders, and this is my favorite time of the whole day. When the garage door closes behind Steve, I pull myself from beneath my bed headed babies and propel myself into the shower. I always swore I wouldn't be that frantic Mom in the morning, "go, go, go, we're going to be late!" short on time and temper. Most days as Caroline spends no less than ten long minutes changing her underwear, I cannot help but threaten to turn off Arthur completely. I bring the clothes to them in our room. History has shown that any attempt to seperate them from each other or our room results in complete chaos, bed jumping, and an exasperated mother. Having them in our room while I get dressed, dry my hair and apply mascara keeps them under my thumb. Connor insists on getting dressed in our bed, which saves my back and my calves from having to do a full squat while tying his Sambas. When her ladyship is FINALLY appropriately attired with double knotted sneakers she can tie herself now, she walks her jammies to her hamper and makes her bed without me uttering a word. This may be my greatest Mommy accomplishment. I toss Connor's blanket, truck, monkey, and pillow in his direction before turning my attention to our bed, fluffing the duvet and applying all six glorious pillows. Unspoken rule; once you have shoes on, you are not coming back in the bed. Connor is still standing there lamenting that he "CAN'T make his bed!" until Caroline comes to help him, again without a word from me. Breakfast begins by 7:50 and is quick affair, but it is at the table with no PBS. There is just one large sip of juice each because again, I have learned that more than a tiny bit will just get tossed and juice is $$$! My fingers seem to fnally have mastered french braiding and as soon as I have tucked the last tendril, lunch bags get tossed into backpacks and we begin our parade to the lower level for coat application. I've laid them out, which is code for "I left them exactly where they were from when we arrived home." Zippers are zipped, mitten pulled on with emphasis on thumb placement, and hats are secured. The garage lurches upwards again by 8:10 and we walk to the bus stop which thankfully, is at the corner of our street. The kids either cling to me and fight over which leg they get to hug or they chase each other in circles until I must intervene with the "hokey pokey." Connor and I walk Caroline to the bus when it arrives and wave good bye to her and then we return to home to gather his things and my two bags and two phones so we can bring him to school. The drive at 8:30 is easy now that we switched him somewhere closer, but it was only yesterday that he stopped crying that he didn't "want to go to this school." His teachers assist me in detaching him from my body and then I head to the car where I warm up my work laptop and check to see what happened overnight. I plan my day, send emails, and organize myself right there in the parking lot. Sometimes I even have a chance to check my own personal stuff and social media. Sometimes. I head out on the road by 9:15, backroads if possible because I LOATHE 128 and I spend my day missing those kids. Sometimes I can still smell the maple syrup from their toaster waffles. I long to go to sleep to wake up with them again, in our bed, watching Sid, resting their heads into my shoulders and asking me to "put your arm around me, Mommy."


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