And so it happened that at the hour of early, before anyone or mostly just me (6:15) should be forced to part with pillows and blankets, four blue eyes attached to arms, bellies, and legs came stumbling in with declarations of life, noisy life. The conversation below followed.
Me: “Well, why did you wake up so early?”
He thought about it for a while, and answered, “I scared of monsters. (pause) No, I not scared monsters, God made monsters.
Me, “I see, so if you weren’t scared of monsters, why did you wake up?”
H: Silly, mommy, I not scared monsters, Harper scared of monsters.
Harper: Mongers.
And there you have it. There you have it.
It’s not that I dislike mornings, I just really like sleep. There is something about mornings that beckon me to sit down and set my fingers to the forming of words and thoughts. A trusty mug of strong, black coffee and the freshness of the new hours seem to be a match made in heaven for writing. Yet, among the great conflicts of my life is how beautiful sleep is. It’s a predicament. So on the mornings that my offspring thrust me from my happy sleepy place, the least I can do is write. It’s kind of like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens or turning lemons into lemonade. I don’t know, my cliché processing hours don’t begin until 8AM.
What I really wanted to say is that yesterday, we found our three year old in mid-play and heard, uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, sies, siete, ocho… I blame the duo of Dora and Diego. I’m now switching all their cartoons to French speaking shows, because I dream sweet dreams of my little children speaking French.
The end.
P.S. The title of this post is not to be confused with my current favorite song, by Of Monsters and Men.
love this.
ReplyDeleteand yes. the coffee is almost done. and my cup is waiting. which after a sick babe kept me up 'til the sun came up really is a totally necessary part of my wardrobe today.