If the decision were mine, I’d wake in the morning, leaving myself a few quiet moments in bed before rising. This is typically my most productive time for pondering. My thoughts are unscathed by the coming day that I’ll barely keep up with, and my intentions are fresh and simple. Maybe I can teach Moonchild about the ‘Sh’ sound today? Maybe we’ll watch that documentary about the dinosaurs, and Wildflower and I will plant some lupins. I really want to weed the small flower bed and hem those pants. And, if I’m lucky, I may sneak in a quick meditation while Sparrow naps.
And then, if I’m feeling particularly calm, answers to deeper questions will surface without my even summoning them….Wildflower is feeling left out. Big brother wasn’t telling the whole story about math class yesterday…make a note to check in and see what’s really bothering him… This was the inspiration that lead to living in our home. The image was in my mind long before we ended up here.
Lately, Sparrow, our youngest, has other plans for my mornings. A Papa’s boy from the get-go, he quickly belly-slides from our bed until his toes tickle the floor, and before I can comprehend what has occurred, he’s making his way to the landing at the top of the stairs to seek out the company of his best buddy. Of course, daddy is typically tied up with work at this time of day, so before my thoughts creep out of my soul and into my forefront, my feet slam to the ground and I’m running like a cyclops, one eye opened, the other squinting its solar protest. I arrive in time to scoop him up our boy, and together we head for breakfast.
My moment is up. I’ll continue to run through my deficit of morning insight until the time comes ’round when I, at last, sleep though the night, allowing,perhaps, a few moments of morning before little toes are off running.