My sleep is easily disturbed by the alarm as it interrupts my dreams, whether I remember them or not, I know they were there. I wish I could pull the covers back up over my one shoulder that is now chilly and was not a moment ago. But instead, I must rise and do my daily morning duty.
The house lays quiet as the sunlight bursts through the trees and into kitchen windows. I lightly pad over to my spot; the one where I line up all the lunch bags and attempt to recover from my “sleepy head” feelings. In the midst of creating their meals for mid-day, I walk over to the coffee maker and delight in the scent as it fills the kitchen air.
Soon a child comes in and asks for breakfast. And then another. And then another. And in the matter of moments my quiet, coffee-scented moments are gone and the room is bright, bustling with the “getting ready”s for the day and the smell of bacon. It is a weekday.
I continue my dance around the kitchen to prepare two of their meals at once and if I am lucky, my husband joins in the two-step and fries the bacon in my stead. Backpacks are filled, along with water bottles, as pancakes and syrup fill their bellies.
“Who wants an egg?”
The slight crack and the hiss of the yolks and whites hitting the pan makes me smile.
I try not to burn them as I turn to put the ham between the bread and cut the tops off of the strawberries and toss the whole apples and chip bags into the lunch bags. From stove to counter to fridge I go.
And then just like that they are out the door, another coffee poured for the handsome man who fries the bacon and sometimes makes an omelet, yes even on a weekday.
Kisses and hugs all around as they go. I will miss them in some way until I see them again, later in the day.
And even though I have yet to eat my own breakfast, I am full.