Soft Morning

Nobody is rushing now.

It's that time of morning when nothing has rules;  our day hasn't yet been defined. The kids are background music, playing made up games together, outside the lines. I don't interrupt or correct when someone gets too rowdy.   They grapple at first, then find their own civility. 

Dogs are curled up close by silent except for short puffs of contented sighs.

Even my hair is in a good mood despite being slept on, no ponytail today.

No rules at 8:38 am means freedom to listen, write, and sort things out.  

Meditation for bloggers.

Our morning unfolds in the kitchen:  tea kettle, turkey bacon, homework packet, an ABC book for Abby.  She is readying herself for Kindergarten.  In her daddy's glasses.

 

My husband is off for the weekend, grouse hunting with his sister and brother-in-law.  He is getting back to his happy place as am I, essential things we forget sometimes.  Our smiles were beginning to fade again.  We always forget the essentials for too long.

Abby is pouring through our new stack of library books:  fourteen this time with naughty cats, smart hippos, reading dogs, rotating planets, and more than a few ballerinas.

Grayson is peering over Abby's shoulder humming a song only he knows.  His mouth is one part happy melodies to two part Trader Joe's strawberry apple fruit strips most of the time.  I hope I never forget.

Abby's giggles peel out over the naughty cat who licks a baby's nose and a daddy's bald spot.  Even though she's never felt a cat's tongue, she imagines how funny it might be.  Wait till she gets a load of the purring.

Grayson disappears into his room and now I hear his MobiGo.  He knows about those precious stolen minutes before the day begins with rules and self-induced pressures.  I'm happy the morning is soft.

It's so nice to be outside the lines, if only for the morning.