Nap?

Mornings start off with a bang around here. You would think that after three years as a mom I'd have learned a long time ago that just because the kids are not up this instant, and you cannot hear a noise in the house, that you can close your eyes for "just one more minute". That minute is a bitch, she waits until you are about to go completely under and then orchestrates an elaborate symphony of baby waking, baby jumping in his crib, toddler screaming for a lost Lovey, toddler ripping off her Pull-Up, hubby dropping the soap in the shower, the cat purring between your ankles, and the dog licking her crotch two inches from your pillow. Good Morning, Beautiful.

Does anyone remember when the morning meant turning on the Today show, catching up with Matt, Meredith, and Ann while marveling at Al Roker's size - or lack of - for an hour as you dozed in and out? Maybe you threw back the clean down comforter, sprinted to the bathroom for a quick pee, sprinted back in, and cuddled for twenty minutes? When did spooning start involving diapered butts and furry animals who sneak into your bed in the wee hours?

I love my kids. I love their sweaty morning scent that takes my breath away the first time we meet each morning. Xander in his crib, jumping like a Mexican jumping bean on crack, who reaches up and nuzzles his warm head under your chin, into your neck, in a way that makes you pause and Thank God each and every morning for the most wonderful creation on Earth. And Zoe, who is now old enough to hop out of bed, tear off her Pull Up (Oh, she is totally potty trained but I have no problem saving myself nightly sheet changes "just in case" with the simplicity of pulling on some "special panties" at night.), sprint into our room with her wild mane sticking up all around her, jump into our bed in one flying leap, and boot Mr. right out of his spot, all the while sticking two sock-clad feet into my ribs, sides, and belly, while I smile and Thank God for this magnificent creature I call mine.

When the X-man is tired of jumping, he starts wailing and then it's game time. Never in her life has Zoe allowed me to get the little guy on my own. She has to lead the way, open the door, and get up close to his crib and whisper "Hey Buddy! Your girls are here now!" in a way that makes me laugh and tear up at the same time. She will also caress his sweet cheeks while I open the blinds and get out a diaper. She loves her little brother and in the early morning sunlight, she shows it. And then Xander gets ahold of her Lovey, pulls it into his crib, and sits on it with a grunt and two big blue eyes peering back at her.

Game On.

The sweet reverie of the morning is broken with a shriek. I'm sure the neighbors sat up in bed, looked at each other in horror, and asked, "Tornado Siren?", looked at the clock, and said, "Nope. Xander took Zoe's Lovey again. Just like clockwork," and laid back down until it was a more reasonable hour to get out of bed.

Once Lovey is back to his rightful owner and Xander has completely melted my heart with his head tuck into my neck, we head downstairs to shouts of "I want to make the waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-fles" today! and "Are we still out of OJ? Seriously, Mom! Put it on the list!" and other things, and always a "Have you seen my keys/blackberry/computer/wallet/gym bag?" we have Eggo's in the toaster oven, sippy's filled with cold drinks, and a mom ready to 1) brush her teeth and 2) put on a pair of pants.

And then, one in a high chair, one sucking down blackberries and trying to see if they float in ice water, they look at each other, start making raspberries, and smile. And mommy knows this will last for thirty seconds, tops, but for those thirty seconds, all is right in the world.