A sweet, little piece that wrote itself inside my head while I languished cocooned inside the covers.
6:40 a.m. The thump of the tail against the hollow of the door sounds like Sam’s Tom-Tom and startles me awake.
My feet hit the floor. I stumble along like an eighty-year-old woman taking one step at a time, using the rail to support my weight as make my way over the mountain of dirty clothes, dumped unceremoniously downstairs to be washed after our weekend away, ushering its owner and her “brother” out to pee.
I start a load of the offending clothes and wake up the computer, who has been sleeping since Thursday. It comes to life and the blank page of the blog post stares at me, giggling a devilish grin. Mockingly it jeers, “You have nothing to say. Go away!”
I sit and wait. Nothing comes. My head still clouded from sleep. I reach for inspiration. Words dance before my eyes, my brain unable to focus. Inspiration is not making an appearance.
7:15 a.m. I hear the rattle of the rabbit cage opening above my head. Sam is awake for his first day of camp. Back upstairs I trudge to make breakfast.
I feel grass and dirt as my feet walk across the kitchen floor. Ick! I grab the broom and tackle the floor before tackling breakfast and packing the required lunch and two snacks.
I drop Sam off at camp, still in my jammies, promising I will be the perfect driver and not get pulled over or leave the car for any reason, lest someone sees Sam and his irresponsible mother who failed to don appropriate clothing before leaving the house.
Son delivered, I return home to discover my husband is now awake. I eat a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries and pecans. I try to read. My head hurts from the effort. I finish my bowl and declare, “I’m going back to bed!”
8:50 a.m. Bliss