17 February 2011

Morning, Evening


The day begins early, earlier than I plan. I lie in bed, as exhausted as when I first fell asleep. Hours later I drift off and wake to the sound of springs from Lily's crib as she welcomes her day by jumping in her bed. I envy her, roll over, and finally get up.

Our morning goes slowly. She has to go to school; I have to go to school. We sit with Adam and all drink our coffee. Lily's is a bit of coffee mixed with milk that she spills all over the floor. Oh well, these things happen. Adam makes her lunch and walks her to school. I stand in the bathroom measuring the wrinkliness of my eyes from little sleep. I trek off to my office to write before I teach, only to realize that I left all my notes at home.


Adam goes off to work for the first time in a week, and I am secretly glad and plan my evening alone. I have a fresh stack of books from the library and dinner that is already made. I flip through books and Lily taunts the dog and rearranges the living room furniture.

I pour a glass of wine, flip on the radio, and we dance around the kitchen. We eat; she bathes. Then we talk about nothing, and she climbs up and down and all over me. I try not to think about deadlines and all the work I'm not doing. There will be time for it tomorrow.

We read the bible and pray before I lift her into her crib. She sings and shouts and, again, I envy her. My plans tonight will be to read intermittently between my favorite television shows, then turn in early. Tomorrow will be more of the same.

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