At around 5 or 6 in the morning, my daughter Tayeko followed by my son Rain, make their way into my bedroom and into my bed to sleep out the remainder of the night before my alarm sounds. Their room is directly across the hall from mine. Rain began this ritual when he was twoish. He used to keep his Radio Flyer push bike by his bed. I’d hear him thump out of bed and imagine his sleepy, clumsy body mounting his bike. I’d smile, eyes still closed, and wait for the familiar sound of the plastic wheels rolling across the wooden floor and into my room. After parking his bike,  he’d climb up into my bed, curl up in the crook of my arm, and immediately go back to sleep. At some point, he abandoned using the bike, and now, he and Taye seem to wake simultaneously, and race to my bed. They each get an arm.

I’d like to argue that it is because of the fact that my sleep is interrupted several times a night that it is difficult for me to get up each morning. Regardless, after hitting snooze on my iPhone a few times, I usually wake up to Taye taking pictures of me with my phone. I thought that I’d put an end to this ritual by activating a password on my phone, but she just punches random numbers into the keypad until it deactivates my phone completely. At least this way, I don’t have to come up with a reason (good enough for her) for why she can’t use my phone.

I don’t know how, but we get out of bed and drag across the hall in a sort of sleepy parade to their room where we pick out clothes. Rain is easy. He just likes the waist bands of his pants to be tight and he doesn’t want his shirts to be too big – easy enough. Taye is more of a challenge. She wants me to pick out her outfit, but every morning, I know the first one will be rejected. So we act out this short play. I pick out an outfit. She rejects it. She picks it out, but I have to pick it out of the drawer, and then I help her put it on. The outfits, since it has been cold, usually consist of a dress, leggings, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater. They never match, but she always pulls it off. This may sound a ridiculous process, but it is actually easier and more harmonious than imposing my own methods and tastes. They say choose your battles wisely and it is just too early to battle with this one.

Once they are dressed, we move on to the kitchen. The lovelies sit down at the table while I make and serve them breakfast. I sometimes gauge whether it is a good morning or not by whether or not they start arguing over who has more cereal in their bowl, or bragging about who I love more based on whose bowl I put down on the table first. I am getting better and better at moving my hands at the exact same pace. One day those bowls will clang at exactly the same mili-second. I usually manage to make a cup of tea while this is all going on and while they eat their breakfast, I make their lunches. They love to yell requests and comments from the dining room table while I’m doing this. “I don’t want carrots.” “I do.” “I want my apple cut in pieces.” “I don’t want anything with bread.” “I want something in a container that is supposed to be hot. But I want it to be cold.” I’ve just learned to say, “Ok.” No matter what – OK.

When breakfast is eaten and lunches are packed, we move to the front door to put on shoes and sweaters and to be strategically placed to don backpacks and get out the door. Then I run into the bathroom – brush my hair and teeth and put in my contacts and zig zag around the kids into my room where I get dressed in less than five minutes. I grab something resembling breakfast ( a grapefruit or someone’s leftovers) and my mug of tea, the keys, my purse, my computer, the kids and we shuffle to the car. Usually, Taye demands that I carry her, though my hands are already beyond full. She sits in protest while I drop my stuff in the car. I return to the front stoop to scoop her up and get her in the car.

Our morning can feel like a relay race. It can feel like a test.  I reread this and think – who would want to live this morning over and over again?  But I do. At least, I do most of the time. I have the occasional fantasy about waking up in a quiet house, savoring a cup of tea while I read my favorite book in bed, and then taking my sweet time to get ready for the day on my own. But if I was offered up the choice – I’d opt for my less than glamourous life every time.

I wouldn’t ever trade –  the sound of little feet racing to my bed, the dreams whispered into my ears from raspy voices, the fashion breakthroughs, the hilarious and bizarre requests, or the goodbye hugs when I’m dropping them off at school – for a quiet morning.

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