Wednesday, September 22, 2010
One day. But not today.
I don't set alarm clocks. I don't need to.
The day climbs onto my bed and bounces up and down. Laughing. Saying things like, "Can you get up now? Are you awake, Mommy?" As if anyone could be asleep.
Some days are full of fight and yelling. The day pounds its feet up my hallway and cries, "Mom! He won't give me my (insert name of must-have-toy-or-world-will-end)! He ate my toast! He sat on my head!" Of course the day does not take all the facts into account. Ones brother is probably reacting to having his head sat on first.
Sometimes the days wake me with giggles and sloppy kisses on my cheek. Little hands sneak under the covers to grip my own. " I love you, Mommy," the day's voice whispers. Those days have blue eyes. The kind that house 'Cheeky' and 'Cute' in equal proportions.
Some days don't bother to come into my room at all. Those days sound like stomping feet in the kitchen and banshee calls of, "Mom, there's no milk left!" On those days even the covers over my head don't hide me.
Sometimes the day is whiny. Fretful. Or just plain needs to go back to bed. The day gets started on the wrong foot and I find myself hugging it to my chest while it sobs incoherent things with its thumb in its mouth. The day can be so little then. So needy. But I wake to it anyway. I rise with only half myself up and the other half of me laying unaware still kissing the moonlight. Sometimes I rise with not much of me at all. Only a teaspoonful of me is available to change wet bedsheets, kiss the bleary eyes and welcome the breakfast dishes and piles of laundry.
Other days I, well, I'd like to say some days wake me with a superwoman outfit. But that day hasn't come yet. I keep waiting for it. Do you suppose it's just late?
Some days are 24 hours long. TWENTY. FOUR. HOURS. And I wonder if it might let me take a nap or go to the toilet in peace. I don't wonder for long. The day is banging at my door, kicking my walls and refusing to co operate.
But this I know.
One day, oh shiny day, those mornings will be a memory. A tiny piece of the way we were. The day will come when I won't be as needed. I will wake in my own time to greet the sun in my own way.
One day, oh sad day, no little hands will need help to pour milk on their cereal or butter their toast.
One day, oh happy day, I will wake to a house of quiet.
But for today, and for lots of tomorrows, I don't set alarm clocks. I don't need to.
What about you? What kind of day wakes you today?