There’s a slight glow of soft blue around the edges of the curtains.  The three year old is banging on his door anouncing his intention to start the day–whether I am ready to begin or not.  I don’t want to get up yet.  The sun hasn’t even peeked over the eastern horizon yet.  It’s not officially morning until the sun is up is it?

According to my children it is morning.  That glow around the edges of their curtains is just enough to wake them for the day.  They are ready.  They are energized.  They are invincible, it would seem.

Was I ever like that?

If I could, I would not begin my day until well after 10am.  If I could . . . .  That’s my fondest dream though.  It’s a fantasy that will probably never be fulfilled. 

I beg the children to go to the six year old’s room.  “Shut the door. Play quietly.”  I’ll think about getting up.

I lay back down.  I know I won’t go back to sleep.  Not really.  Not fully.  If I am lucky, I might doze a little longer, but that’s unlikely.  My children are awake.  I know it.  And my mother’s instinct will not allow me to leave them unsupervised.  My super-mother-hearing is on full alert for every noise that might indicate someone is doing something they shouldn’t.

Did you know mothers have super-hearing?  We get it when our babies are placed into our arms for the first time.  Along with super-hearing we get eyes in the back of our heads.  It’s not a myth.  It’s the truth.  (Now, I’m sitting here typing, reading the words on the screen but out of the back of my head I can see my six year old sitting on the recliner playing with his spiderman action figure after I had told him specifically to go upstairs to play. “Boy, I said to go back upstairs. . .” NOW, he’s going.)

I don’t lay in bed long.  I’m awake.  I have things to do. Feed the animals, dishes, laundry, email, blogs, study.  I might as well get up and start the day.  My husband?  He sleeps on, snoring away.  Undisturbed.  Sometimes I think that if I can’t come back in my next life as a cat then I want to be a man.  They get to sleep through anything. 

I get up.  I make breakfast for the children.  I start a load of laundry.  I restart the dryer with the jeans in it,  hoping it will get dry before school starts.  I make their lunches.  There’s plenty of time before we have to load up and head to school for the day. 

I pour myself a bowl of cereal and once the children are back upstairs I sneak out to the front porch.  The front of the house faces the east and the sun still isn’t over the horizon.  There’s just now a hint of pink in the east.  The houses across the road slope down into a small valley.  It’s shrouded in mist.  Why don’t I like getting up this early again?  It’s such a beautiful, quiet time of day. 

Oh yeah, because I’m tired.

I don’t stay outside long.  I don’t want the kids discovering me outside and besides, it’s a little chilly too. I return indoors and sit down to my computer.  I burn the next hour or so checking email, reading blogs and thinking about what I want to accomplish today.  What I want to accomplish this week.

I look up and realize it’s nearly time to go.  I check the dryer–the jeans are still not dry.  I rush to find other clothes for them.  Get dressed.  Hurry!  Hurry!  Hurry!

I’ll take the children to school soon.  The time is running away from me now.  When I get back, I should get started on my studies, get some things done that I need to get done.  But I won’t.  At least not right away.  Instead, I will probably return to bed.  I’ll climb in next to Snoring Daddy and savor our first moments alone in the house together since last Wednesday.  

It’s not a bad way to start the day.  Even if I had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn. 

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