Pass the coffee.
Outside the mourning doves are cooing. Inside the house, my daughter is declaring the toast to be too toasty (and her highness is requesting less-toasty toast please!). There is a low whine in the background -- the sound of a broken toilet that won't stop running and that my mediocre plumbing skills are not capable… Continue reading Saturday Morning
All I can do is stay present to what she is right now. To her lip with dried yogurt, her feet in my way-too-large shoes, and her little whispers to me about Bob, the Honey Nut Cheerios bee.
Full throttle. That is how the day starts with my daughter. This was the first five minutes of our day: "MAAAAHHHHH-MEEEE!" Arrive at her room where she is tucked behind the shade, looking out her window. "Daddy there is a bug! Daddy take the bug away!" (Daddy is the bug-taker-away-person.) Daddy takes the tiny ant away. "Mommy why… Continue reading FULL THROTTLE
So duh duh duh duuuuuuh (that was a trumpet if you were wondering), henceforth I shall commence a daily morning writing, with coffee and assorted rejected dairy-products.
To silence except for Morning Edition and mourning doves. To tired dogs on the unmade bed. To tepid but strong coffee. To home!
This was a morning I did not want to get out of bed. Not even to write. Not even to stick my nose in the can of Cafe Bustelo! (That is highly, highly unusual.) I eventually got out of bed. I had to—the little girl needed to get dressed and fed and cajoled into getting her… Continue reading Bird Songs
My grandfather Karl woke up every day at 5:30 am. Voluntarily. I am not normally a Karl. Not by a long shot. I'm more of a watch-Gilmore Girls-Reruns-until-1am kind of gal. That is, until recently. My toddler wakes up early. Like 6am early. I used to dread these mornings. I would barter with my husband in… Continue reading How I learned to embrace 6AM and write in stolen time