I love summer mornings.
I love that we're not on anyone's schedule but our own. I love that there's no bus to catch. No alarm to set. No clothes to lay out the night before.
I love that I can sneak into my kids' rooms while they're still sleeping, and watch them for a few minutes before going downstairs to enjoy a leisurely, quiet cup of coffee on the patio.
Unfortunately, I haven't actually had a morning like that since 2005.
Instead, most mornings are like yesterday morning. I wake to realize that the sun has come up much earlier than it was supposed to, considering that I was up in the middle of the night with a child...or two..or three. I attempt to go back to sleep, but realize there is a child's knee, or maybe an elbow, pressing into my back. I eventually fall back asleep on the approximately six inches of my own bed that I've been allotted, but am awakened again a few minutes later.
By a finger in my eye.
I open the eye that I'm presently able to open, and see my four-year-old staring at me.
"Mom! You're awake!"
For some reason, he is surprised.
He wants to climb into our bed, but his sister is laying sideways across the middle of it, and I'm not giving up one single inch of my six inches of the bed. Call me selfish, but it's all mine. Besides, I know there's no way I'm getting one more minute of sleep if he ends up in this bed.
"Sorry. This bed's at capacity," I tell him.
He eyes me suspiciously.
"Don't blame me. Blame the fire marshall. He says this bed only holds three people."
He shrugs and says OK. I think he must have gone back to bed after all, until a minute later, when I hear him playing his toy drum. Next to my head.
What a sweet boy. Serenading his mommy first thing in the morning. He does this a lot. Lucky, aren't I?
"You're a great drummer, " I tell him. "But it's just a little early".
He actually listens to me and stops playing. I close my eyes again.
He throws the drum across the room.
His two-year-old brother starts crying.
I reluctantly give up my six inches of the bed and ask the drummer what he wants for breakfast as I go get his brother.
He shrugs and says "I'll decide later, mom."
I turn around to see that he's taken over my six inches of the bed, and he falls back asleep.
His brother is now awake for the day.
I stand next to the sink and down a cup of coffee as my two-year-old repeatedly screams for more waffles.
I think of the day when my kids will be teenagers who want to sleep in.
Maybe it's time I learned to play the drums.