A youngish mother’s eyes flutter open as the first rays of sunlight start to creep across her upward facing palm resting on the pillow next to her head. Her vision comes into focus on the clock and she realizes that she’s slept much too long. Even though, she snuggles back under the down comforter for just a moment more.
The sounds of her children laughing and quibbling over some toy floats through the warmth and comfort and she can feel a smile slowly start to creep across her drowsy face. She stretches and flips the covers back. As the whoosh of cool air covers her body, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and reaches for a sweatshirt and warm socks.
As she is reaching to rub the lingering sleep out of her eyes, the kids burst through the door and make flying leaps across the threshold into her waiting arms. Giggles escape all of their lips as she is pushed back across the bed covered in bedding now made of wiggling limbs and fuzzy footed PJ’s.
She asks them how they slept and slips out of their grasp to pull on her socks. They wander into the kitchen which is warmed by lights and the flickering images coming from the TV. There is a lingering scent of fried eggs in the air. She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits at the table to figure out what lays ahead of them for the day.
The children squabble over who gets to sit in her lap and she smiles at being fought over. She arranges them both on her lap and they all fade to silence for a moment while something on the TV exacts their attention.
She loves these mornings. Full of expectation for the day ahead and yet so still and unhurried. She loves these children. Full of energy and love despite their proclamations that one or the other has stolen some such treasured toy. She loves being a mother. Full of ideas and plans for how to sculpt these children into productive members of society.
She loves her life. She must love this life. How could she not?
1 comment:
Who made the coffee and cooked the eggs?
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