After walking the dog,
I return to a quiet house,
to make my coffee,
get their breakfast ready,
pack lunch, do this before they wake up.
Because if it doesn’t happen then, inconvenience is the morning’s noun.
James goes to his job, which I wish I could make better, but I don’t know how, so I kiss him on the mouth and tell him to have a safe drive and that I love him and I mean it.
After the first “Mama,” I take the stairs two at a time to snuggle damp morning pajamas and talk about what we hoped would happen today,
Nora Lea, “Cupcake,”
Helen Jane, “Pay a bill.”
After we go downstairs, we sit at the table for breakfast. It is the first time the girls have ketchup with breakfast potatoes. I put supper in the slow cooker. Pinot will eat a short rib. It’s her birthday treat.
After we wipe our breakfast faces, the jackets go on. The girls go to the stroller and climb in. “I’m SO COLD,” said Nora Lea. I remembered my childhood in Wisconsin and stopped myself from up-hill-ing-it-both-ways to them. After all, they are toddlers.
After we tuck into the stroller with blankets, we run down the sidewalk to the trail. We walk down the trail to their other sidewalk and go to school. It’s going to be a good day.
Still don’t feel like talking about Thanksgiving. Try as I do, I can’t muster up tips. Everyone else is doing it, better, timelier, more planned out, prettier. Instead of writing about that, in the spirit of Nablopomo, I still need to write, so an account of my day is the best I can do.