Perspectives

Two of the children are awake already, one since five-thirty. My housekeeper is off to look for pods underneath their beds. These are the two late-sleepers, often still abed in the mid-afternoon or later. They are awake and aware, full of and ready for conversation. They were given a talk about sleeping to avoid responsibilities and life. This morning, they are ready for it, and though I know their ebbs and flows, know this could be a novel idea they are toying with -- getting up for no reason other than it pleases their parents -- I'm hoping they find something in the mornings that they can use, call their own, claim as reason to roll out of bed before the heat of the afternoon.

The urge is there to become irritated that I've been asked for the third time, "Are you sure you don't want me to make you an egg?" when what I really want is to be left alone with my coffee to wake up. Then the thought hits me. One is leaving in the fall. Off to college. Two more are close on his heels, both sixteen, with only two more years of high school left. My husband and I have offered them a deal: college, and they still have a room here for summers and school breaks for four years, or jobs upon graduation and rent to pay. My husband sees child-rearing as a finite proposition. I see this "deal" as another duty to them, a stepped-up lesson in responsibility. So it occurs to me that in two years time, only my daughter, still six years away from graduation, will be left, and busy mornings such as this might be very scarce indeed.

I'm often reeled back to the moment, and for that, I'm grateful. It avoids having to say, "When did that happen?" When I'm aware of the moment, there's a much better chance of remembering, and I can say, "That was yesterday." And that sometimes takes a reminder of tomorrow.

Wow. Trippy.

Till later...