It’s Sunday. I wake up before anyone; only to doze off for a wild dream and abruptly come to – rendering sleep to where it now shall wait, the days end.

I make a coffee. Decaf unfortunately. But because the headaches were even more unfortunate, I’m faithful and married to this hot cup of “I wish you’d wake me up.” Hazelnut creamer and in comes the cat.

It’s Sunday. I wake up before anyone; only to doze off for a wild dream and abruptly come to – rendering sleep to where it now shall wait, the days end.

I make a coffee. Decaf unfortunately. But because the headaches were even more unfortunate, I’m faithful and married to this hot cup of “I wish you’d wake me up.” Hazelnut creamer and in comes the cat.

He’s asleep on the pink couch, on the patio. And when his ears tickle with the sound of the creaky, squeaky door, distended with humidity, he perks up into a halloween cat stretch. He stands at the door as if he cannot pass the present he left me on the doormat . . . a helpless, lifeless mouse. I can’t help but wonder if the mouse had a name, a brother, a little overcoat. Too many stories, I suppose.

Stephen finally awakes and with an old grocery bag in one hand, his coffee in another, and a song escaping his heart he removes the poor little creature. Now he’s sitting in the chair that rocks and is covered in morning rays like a happy dog who found the sun spot on the floor. I wonder what he is thinking?

The children are up, making noises in their rooms. Their doors about to bust with their anticipation of breakfast and the beginning of their day. I wonder if they have expectations for the day. I know Luke does, because they spilled out of his eyes yesterday. He wants to trade Pokemon cards with the neighbor’s grandkids. The grandkids who are leaving at two. “So do we have to go to church?” “Yes, we do.” And then the tears. If I should ever run out, I know where to find them in great supply. I know who’s I can borrow if mine dry up like a drought. I don’t foresee this as a probability. In deserts and winters rain has poured from my eyes. Maybe that is what waters the seeds that are being planted in my heart?

I’m thinking of things I must get done today, too. Responsibility, like a barking little dog, biting at my feet, always. Nothing major, but still the high pitched bark and the sharp little teeth rarely cease.

This is the day before it begins. Before the noise and the food and the toys and adulting. Before the playing and preparing. Before the snuggle and the sting.

I’m trying a new post, possibly series. Just writing things I’ve noticed throughout the week. It’s good to just sit and take in life and all it’s details – as it is on regular old day.

Comment if you like the stories.  xx