She wake’s up at 7am to the sounds of little voices talking across the hall between their rooms. She hears giggling and whispers (dangerous!) and sits up in bed. Light is softly filtering in behind the curtains and she knows (though she doesn’t want to admit it) that it is time to get up. When she emerges from her warm bedroom, yawning and tying her fleece bathrobe tighter around her middle, they are playing together quietly in one room. Lights are burning and a sound machine has been left on, so the sounds of a babbling brook fill the room. Suddenly they hear the floor creak under her feet and scurry out into the living room and two children shout excitedly,
They come out into the kitchen and discuss who’s day it is. Odd days are for Brady, even’s for Molly. Every day one is thrilled and the other crushed, even though they each just had their day. But it doesn’t matter. The lucky one who’s day it is feeds the fish and gets to be first in the bathroom and says the blessing at each meal. The unlucky one has a devastated look on their face and whines that “it is never my day!”
They eat. Pancakes or waffles or cereal or toast and “‘tella or mutella” depending on who is pronouncing the word Nutella. One always likes the breakfast choice and one always wants something different. Mom chooses what we eat in this house, depending on what she feels like making. They sit at the table. Mom has her cup of coffee, the steam curling up into her face and listens to the chatter of a three and four year old. “What day is it?” (Monday.) “Is it the weekend yet?” (No.) “Do I have school today?” (Yes.) “Can I play with my friends after school?” (Maybe) “What are we eating for dinner?” (I don’t know yet. We are eating a meal right now, must we already know the next one?) “What is the weather?” (Cold, then warm.) “Can I wear my princess dress to school?” (No.) “Can I wear my black leotard?” (No.) “Can I wear your sock bun?” (Yes.)
They clear their plates, placing them carefully on the counter by the sink and do their chores. Washing hands and faces. Brushing teeth. Making beds.
“Can you help me make my bed, mom?” (No.) “Can I wear my summer clothes?” (No.)
Mom brings her coffee into Molly’s room and settles in the purple polka dot Pottery Barn anywhere chair (quite comfortable) and supervises clean up. Brady comes in and plays with his sister’s things (though she doesn’t like it.) Beds are made. An outfit is chosen. She lays it out on the floor.
“Does this look okay, mom?” (Yes.)
Mom cleans up the kitchen while they play together (in his room.) She makes a lunch and packs it into a Barbie lunchbox with a note on a napkin that she writes with a red sharpie marker. She posts her blog on Twitter and Facebook and Pinterest. She gets dressed in her workout clothes and packs her gym bag and fills her water bottle.
Jackets are forced on. Faces are scrubbed after seeing that the morning face wash was not done as well as she thought. Two kids are buckled into the car, with bags and books and shoes and “I can buckle myself!” They drive to school, listening to a book on CD that they beg to listen to every morning and she realizes her daughter can repeat it verbatim. Which means you must stop listening to it, because that is weird?
She unbuckles two kids, bringing them both into the school building. You sign her in, kiss her goodbye and tell her that you love her and to have a good day and that you’ll miss her and you’ll see her soon. She waves at you over her shoulder and giggles at you for being so mushy and runs into her class.
She buckles him in (again) and drives to the gym and unbuckles him (again) and arrives (out of breath as class begins five minutes before it is possible to arrive.)
It is 9:15 am.