The morning sun just peeking in through the blinds, the very tippy top so it's a blade of sunlight shining down onto one row of striped rug. Little sighs and movement coming in through the monitor on my bedside table and somewhere (in his room? in the living room?) there is a tiny xylophone being played. Ding, ding, ding. It's morning and the boys are waking up and Hank's alarm is going off and it's another day to do it all again. It's a slow rise- sometimes we'll linger under the warm blankets until I know Charlie means business. It's a slow morning- with all of us rubbing our eyes and feeling cocooned, like those first fall into winter mornings can feel- still dark at 7am and confusing to the senses. So I'll sit then stand then walk down the hallway, my sock sliding me along as I pad silently to the littlest's room. And there he is, arms outstretched- up, up, up! And I pick him up, up, up and I tell him about the day we will have. We talk about plans and our night and what we want for breakfast as I wait to hear a much louder hallway walker (runner) make his way to Charlie's room for the grand "GOOD MORNING" we would miss if it didn't come. And then it's the living room and playtime is on. Breakfast is on. Books are opening, toys are moving. All the morning sounds are going- the coffee grinder, the toaster- beep beep beep- the fridge opening and milk being poured. Sometimes there's whining and crying, sometimes there's laughter and happy shouting, but it's all part of this bigger sound that's almost like music; the sound that's become Our Morning, that when I'm away, or when I'm alone, or certainly when our little people have grown, I will miss terribly. The sun is higher now, no longer just peeking through but filling every bit of every room and the boys say goodbye as Daddy leaves for work. And then it's the three of us, my daytime team, my people. The three of us conquer the world together, or at least this little world we live in. We build buildings and assemble racetracks and I am a superhero! Henry is a fireman! Charlie is a chef! Then back to us- the mama, the big brother, the baby brother. And there's something peaceful in knowing that no matter what, we will always be these things. We will grow and change and change some more, but a mama and two brothers will remain. So I take a big, deep breath and a good, long pause to take it in- to try to memorize this morning, try to memorize every morning, mornings that will always remain a little golden-hued in my mind, tinged with that first morning light, little pajama-footed feet padding down the hallway, and laughter, all of that deep belly laughter, filling up every corner of my memory.
