Socks weren't always easily found, well, the ones J wanted to wear; black,ankle length, but clean like I like them. Collared shirts hung in his closet day after day but Mrs. H's class was an oven, so he would only wear the short sleeved T-shirts and, of course, there were a few that were his favorites.
Waking him in the morninig was always risky business, no matter when he hit the hay. He could casually walk upstairs after the 20th call, or there was his bear-like attitude when he was wakened.
Turning on his light and telling him it was time for school, was akin to bringing a Grizzly out of hibernation early, and to find his cave had been blocked off, leaving him in a pickle.
Of course there were the mornings that pulling him out of bed was like yanking on the horns of a tranquilized buffalo over Old Faithful during its regularly scheduled erruption. He'd go limp, roll his eyes in the back of his head, and try to squirm deeper down into the warm covers.
So, with a whirlwind of math papers, award for art work and AR reading coupons, and leftover school supplies brewing in his back pack he raced home from the school bus.
And hollered:"Mom! School is done! He proudly showed me his progress reports and I could see a faint glimmer of a kid who was now wiser than a first grader already.
He wasn't the only one giddy with excitment.
I, too, had renewed hope that the routine morning minutes used to feed, remind, coax, bargain, could all be put to better use.
Instead of an order to wash face, do hair, and discuss for the millionth time why collars do NOT make you a vampire; I could be my myself, replace those mornings with some tranquil alone time at such an early hour.
Moments to take the time soak in the birds chirping, the gentle tocking of the clock and the rain-green grass in the back yard made me giddy like a little girl on Christmas mornning.
I gathered my books, the last two WSJ newspapers, scriptures and sat them all next to the computer upstairs. Despite lots of cloudy, rainy days, golden streams of light poked through all the dreariness. Breathing in deeply I turned to the bookmarked page in my scriptures, smoothing the tissue like pages and stood to heat some water in a mug. This spring has felt more like winter, and if I were going to do any writing or journaling I'd need hot cocoa. With a beep of the microwave and two scoops of generic cocoa and marshmellows, I had my hands warming around the cup and sipping in delicious chocolate, thinking, once again, how much I LOVE mornings.
I read the first few lines in Nephi where J and I had been and thought back to when he wanted a "Nephi" themed b-day party. (for those who don't know 'Nephi' he was a young man who at this moment in the story breaks his bow; the only instrment for obtaining big game on their long camp out. I chuckled at the thought of him wanting to have everyone shoot his plastic bow into a cardboard target.
Whilst in this blissful reverie, I heard a faint shuffle of little feet coming toward me. I braced myself for the morning mood of the day. But as the patter neared I could tell that these were not tired feet they were awake, alert, happy feet, they were: "Where's mom feet?" .
Closing my eyes I took one last, long pull of hot cocoa and alone time into my nostrils and opened my eyes. To my surprise a little boy, hair spikey with gel, a smile across his face that could only have come from a good night's rest, stood in front of me, dressed from head to toe.And even in a vampire shirt.
"WOW!" I exclaimed. "You are sure up early!"
"Mom! Do you wanna play catch?!!" he said excitedly, pulling his mitt from behind his back.
I looked at the clock: 6:00 a.m.
Finding myself in his position all summer I started in on the excusees:
"Yeah, but shouldn't we wait til after breakfast? I think the dew from the grass might be bad on our gloves."
"Good thinking, mom. I'll get you some cereal, too, so you can go get ready."
I came upstairst in a sweat shirt and pants, searched a laundry basket for my socks and when I sat down I almost sat on my baseball glove.
"You can just wear your hair like that mom." he reassured me as he pointed to my Jane Fonda mashed up hair. "No one will see ya like that in the back yard."
"Oh, thank you. I appreciate your help."
"And ya might want to wear your rain boots, cuz it is pretty damp outside. "
And with one final spoonful of sugar bombs (the name Calvin uses in the comic strip he has with Hobbes) he asked: "what would I be doing at school right this minute?"
"Son, you wouldn't have even been up yet." You could have four recesses at school before the bell rang to start the day."
With a wowed look of self congradulatory achievement, he slipped his glove on handed me mine mid bite.
I slowlly dragged my feet to a pair of gardening shoes, pulled on a warm fleece jacket, grabbed a hat and drug my feet to the garage like a kid that was walking to school, uphill, both ways.
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