(Thump) Truman slides off the bed while I groan at the 6:45 am clock face.
(Shuffle shuffle shuffle) he moseys over to the window while I play possum under the duvet.
(Tromp fastshuffle tromp fastshuffle)
All it takes is five words to shift my tired mind from, “oh God, he’s already awake and it’s Saturday and I could still be sleeping” to my tired soul being awash in gratitude, pleasure and awe.
A breathy voice in my ear “Good morning, Mommy. IT SNOWED!”
The searing pain of years of infertility has faded to a shadow in my life that informs these moments. I feel the gifts I’ve been given. Irritation fades and is replaced by warm, resigned, pleasure.
He and I move downstairs and let the others sleep. I’m not ready to go out yet, so I brew coffee while he plays snow plow.
Then jingle bell sorting.
And suddenly, with a stomp, a whoop, and a flurry of waterproof gear, the other kids join us and out we go.
Last night, after the kids went to bed, I draped the sides of the picnic table with pine boughs to make a snow fort. It worked wonderfully, most of the gaps being covered by 8″ of snow supported by lacy needled branches.
We decorated the top with icicles and fortified the walls, and played for as long as our heat held up.
While Mama slept in, we made French toast and I finished my coffee, finally, two hours after brewing it. And here I sit, listening to the Beatles in my fulled slippers, while the kids play, fight, laugh, and destroy the house.
Just a regular Saturday morning.