Wednesday morning was a slow one; I awoke with half of my eyelashes crimped and curled in a very peculiar way. I stood, half-alive and cloudy from Wild conversations toasted with champagne the night before. Mary and I like to think we are classy.
6am has never been a high point for me.
Johnny begins to scratch and whimper to be let outside. Unfortunately, his bladder holds priority over my coffee. I hear Lane’s door open, he must have heard Johnny’s roar. My eight year-old Frankenstein stumbles down the hall…
“What’s up mom?”
All I wanted was to pour my coffee slowly into my Lennon memorial mug, carefully collapse onto my velvet sofa and enjoy my brew with hopes of making it into my mouth. At this particular hour in my life, I didn’t want to think or do. I didn’t want to see or feel. I didn’t want to answer to anyone.
I answer loads of questions for a living, forty hours a week.
MAM!! MAM!! *snaps fingers* Can I get a fitting room? No shit.
Can I speak with a manager? You are.
Do I look fat in this? OF COURSE not.
How my ass look? ........
Y’all closin’?! Wet Seal closin’?! No mam.
I smoked pot, danced and had sex in this. Can I return it? NO.
Can you change the layout of your entire store, process 30+ boxes of product, make this conference call, beat last year’s numbers and smile all before opening on a Monday? Sure big dogs, we’ll get right on that.
I cannot express to you the amount of therapy I receive from thirty minutes of silence before getting ready for work every day.
LET ME BE A ROCK WITH NO AGENDA.
Lane comes running into the living room, with Johnny in tow, as they both pounce on top of my feet. My blurred vision made it seem as if they were moving in slow motion. These boys have energy, y’all. I didn’t know whether to cry or pour the coffee on top of my head just to see how it would feel.
I have a sweet little voice that I keep tucked away for when my eyelashes are permed and my brain is dead. It was my only option.
“Lane, baby, please let Johnny out and wash your face and brush your teeth.”
“Mommmmmmm, it’s too early for that.”
A fleeting thought- “It’s too early for your little ass to be on this couch with me.”
I have trained Lane to live a life that is full of conversation and exploration; he has uniquely developed in both of these areas. When I lay my head down at night, I am a happy momma. However, I’m not usually a woman of many words before 11am, it takes some time for me to “power on”. Lane turns quiet on me at times but I am convinced that Johnny’s switch is broken.
I try, once more, to coach Lane off of my toes and into the bathroom. No luck.
He purrs, “Ohhhhh Momma, I just love you and want to be with you.” He lays back and holds a death grip on my calves. Of course my son would reach into his treasure chest of mush and crush me with it. DAMN.
So, I was sad for a little while. No alone time. No meditation before work. My expectations weren’t met.
Wednesday morning showed me a tiny life lesson of thankfulness and gratitude. Looking back now, I am thankful for the hour of 6am with two healthy joys. Lane is a mini “Fonz” with bright ideas and strong bones; he can squeeze my calves whenever he pleases. Johnny has been such a joy for us to share our lives with, even when he bites my boobs.
Thankful for loud mornings that turn into afternoons with endless possibilities.
Thankful for interrupted silence.
Thankful for jolts of solitude that come in waves.
Maybe, one day soon, I’ll be the first to wake.