Tuesday Stuff

Early Mornings


I am not a morning person.

But I married a morning person.

I have been converted.

I now routinely rise before the sun has risen and before the birds begin their morning chirping.

I sit before my computer and with a groggy mind and groping fingers, I turn my computer on. As it boots up, I open the blinds in the office so that I may look out at the pitch blackness.

Waking up to darkness depresses me a bit.

Once the coffee has finished brewing, I pour myself a large mug full adding too much sugar and anticipating that first, scalding sip; the moment I truly start waking up.

I check email first, and then my blogs – there are usually no comments to approve. Instead of feeling disheartened by this, I am relieved. I do not enjoy playing moderator on any level.

At precisely 6:15 (or thereabouts), I prepare to wake the boys up. Taking a quick sip of my morning brew, I brace myself for the groans, grunts and dirty looks.

My teenagers don’t care for mornings, either.

I turn the light on in Jazz’s room. He stirs and burrows deeper into his covers.

I turn the light on in Dude’s room. He is completely oblivious to my presence. I pull his covers back and he frowns. It’s not until I turn his radio on and a blast of music rips the silence into shreds does he emit a low, grumpy growl of protest.

I return to my computer and continue my morning routine. I update and upload changes to the school websites before checking Cute Overload, (I smile), Picture of the Day, (I am inspired), my Facebook account, (I am overwhelmed), and finally Twitter, (I am curious).

I save Twitter for last because I’m usually on Twitter the longest.

Jazz has usually gotten up and is preparing his morning cereal by the time I reach Twitter.

Dude has usually fallen back asleep by the time I’ve caught up on my Twitter stream.

I get back up and loudly knock on Dude’s door to startle him back awake. His eyes open and he shoots me a dirty look.

I’m used to his dirty looks.

I sit back down at my computer when I hear Kevin stirring. He comes in, gives me a quick kiss and we ask each other how the other one slept.

“I tossed and turned all night,” is my answer.

“I woke up at 4:00 hungry,” is his answer.

It is the same every morning.

It’s now 6:45 and Jazz has finished breakfast, has gotten dressed and is making his bed.

Dude is still in bed.

I stand in Dude’s doorway, and continue to stand in Dude’s doorway, until he sits up, pulling the sheet over his head and huffing in irritation.

I leave him alone so he can fully wake up, confident that now that he’s sitting up, he will soon begin his morning routine.

I smile to myself as I listen to Kevin greet the boys as they make their way to the kitchen,

“Morning sunshine,” is how he greets them both.

They mumble what I assume to be a greeting in return.

I smile.

It’s an inside joke because neither boy is anywhere close to being sunny in the morning.

It’s 7:00 o’clock and I stretch. Rose and peach fingers of sun are just beginning to curl around the horizon and I sigh in contentment – sunny days make me happy.

I take one last, large swallow of coffee before hefting my mass out of my chair and beginning the long, and sometimes complicated process of packing the boys’ lunches for school.

I take pride in the lunches I pack for my boys. And apparently, they are quite popular with their friends, judging by the funny stories I hear on a daily basis about who has stolen what food item that day.

Beds are made. Teeth have been brushed. Hair has been combed. Backpacks have been packed.

At 7:25 a.m., it’s time to leave.

The boys pile into the car, I kiss Kevin goodbye and we take off, the car gradually warming degree by degree until we arrive at the school, toasty and comfortable.

We carefully navigate the busy high school parking lot until we reach the yellow trimmed doors to the school.

“Have a good day,” I say. “I’ll see you later.”

The boys mumble “Bye” nearly in unison and pile out. I watch them momentarily as they merge with other students and head toward the building.

My children are no longer boys, they are young men, and without fail, my heart skips a beat.

My time with them is running out.

I assimilate myself back into the morning traffic and head home to begin my day.

Though every morning is nearly the same, I do not feel bored with the routine. I treasure every mundane moment I have with my guys.

Emily at Chatting at the Sky hosts a weekly “noticing” party – giving us a chance to unwrap and share the little gifts that God gives to us on a daily basis.

AudioPlay, Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: My Mom is (Not) Cool


Fiction under 250 words.


Paula laughingly glanced over at her daughter as she turned into the school parking lot. ”And then she said what?”

“Oh come on mom, don’t make me repeat it!” laughed Remi as she reached up to wipe a tear of mirth from her eye. “Sometimes, I wonder if she’s got a brain at all. I still can’t believe she said that. I would have DIED.”

Paula nodded in agreement as she carefully navigated the packed packing lot. Kids in various shapes and sizes suddenly appeared between the parked cars.

“I wish these kids would use the cross walk,” she mumbled.

Remi rolled her eyes and slipped her name badge lanyard over her head.

The women shared a smile as they basked in the good humor they shared a moment before.

Remi’s smile abruptly disappeared as she spotted her friends crossing the parking lot.

Paula grimaced. Here it comes, she thought. She resisted the urge to sigh. She knew, from past experience, that would really irritate her daughter. Remi already felt guilty enough without having her add to the burden.

The maroon Ford Escape made a smooth stop in front of the entrance. Remi opened the door and began to step out. “Hey guys, wait up!” Without a backward glance, she stepped out of the car and slammed the door.

Paula released her sigh. Her feelings weren’t hurt, but she was disappointed. It wasn’t “cool” to have a good relationship with parents. With her eyes focused straight ahead, she drove off.

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