mornings

home means dream-filled sleep under the adorable duvet cover mom stitched up while i was gone. and it means being woken by krista who whispers, “can i come snuggle?” and takes my half-wakened gurgle as a yes, then bounds out of bed some stage later and tells me that i really should get up because i “always sleep for long and long and long”.

there’s no denying that, so i squint over at my cell phone to discover that it’s two minutes past eight. armed with this choice piece of information, i inform krista that it’s by no means late and that i’ve only just achieved the doctor-recommended eight hours.

“well, can i turn on the light in the big room and play playmobil if i shut your door?” i send up my assent from under the duvet and wriggle further down inside it as she runs out. more dreams follow, interlaced with the dramatic crises and emotional soliloquies from next door, until i finally heave myself up out of the depths and stumble upstairs to put in my eyes and clean my teeth and silently swear that today i shall work out. and in the meantime, the radio plays muffled from john’s room, james flies about the house with his blanket for a cape, and soon mom will bend over kira with a sunshiny “good morning, lizzy-tish!” and kelli will pad up to the kitchen in her pj’s for breakfast.

it’s a good way to start the day.