dawnswann

Winter Morning

In Life Lessons on February 5, 2011 at 5:11 pm

The other morning, as I waved goodbye to my offspring all bundled up and tucked neatly away in the carpool minivan, I thought about how smooth the morning had gone. First I woke up at a quarter to six– an anomaly fueled by the fever breathing husband panting his illness all over me in his sleep. The extra time allowed for the peaceful observation of the sun rise and the snow fall. Lunches got made, mouths got fed, mittens got secured all before carpool. And nobody got hurt in the process. The morning eased and stretched into my workday and thoughts about what makes the whole thing work tinkered around in my brain. I made a list:

  1. 1. Coffee on a timer. I don’t care if it is Pavlovian. The best part of wakin’ up is [Dunkin Donuts Brand Coffee] in your cup. I don’t exist until that first, curling tendril of coffee in the air.
  2. 2. Oranges simmering in pot. A few things happened for this discovery to occur. A) the cool mist humidifier mysteriously cracked its tank. When I say mysteriously, I should also mention that I found the cool mist humidifier disemboweled in the play room. I’m not blaming anyone, just saying. B) Scott became sick and congested. C) An arctic blast met my furnace and produced enough dry, static electricity in this house to launch it into orbit. D) the oranges I wanted to put in the lunch boxes looked like they’d sucked on their neighbors, the lemons. So I put the oranges, a cinnamon stick and a few cloves into my grandmother’s big soup pot, put it on the stove, brought it to a boil then lowered it to steaminess.  The result was warm and Christmassy-cozy on a January morning. And Scott got that nose a- going again.
  3. 3. I’m all about keeping it simple. Not really. I’m actually all about over complicating. But sometimes I can’t help but be a powerhouse of simple efficiency. Like when I get the crock pot full of oats, apples, cinnamon and water before bed and we wake up to breakfast. It’s like having Alice in the house without having to see her or pay her or listen to her go on and on about the butcher and his meat. Also, the aroma of “baking” mixed with the aroma of coffee mixed with the aroma of simmering oranges is so precious that the offspring can’t help but spring from their beds with joy.
  4. 4. And since they are happy, I am happy and I brew them a pot of chai, which they love.
  5. 5. Speaking of Alice, I like to get all my appliances going in the morning. At least the washer and dryer. I think it sounds productive — like the house is busy and participating in the world. Since I work from home, I get thrill from feeling like part of the team. Even if that team comes from Sears and breaks every third month. (In the spring and summer I hang laundry on the line. Please don’t judge me. I care about the planet as much as the next guy. Woman. Many wet clothes grace my banister too because I’m all about the green living. )
  6. 6. And here I slide into…affirmations. No, I’m serious. I don’t care who laughs at me. If I tell myself I’m going to have a good day then I AM GOING TO HAVE A GOOD DAY. AND SO WILL YOU. But, really, there are so many thoughts happening in that bucket of gray jello. They roil and surge and sizzle without any…well…thought. Heart thoughts like “Altogether now, on the count of three, BEAT!” and breathing thoughts like, “breathe in, breathe out.” And bad habit thoughts like, “Eat that. C’mon do it. You aren’t getting any younger. EAT THE CHOCOLATE! What if we die this afternoon and never get to eat again?” And so on. I feel like at some point I oughta take back my thoughts. At least for a few minutes. And you know what? Science agrees. Just for a few minutes, at least, I think good thoughts.
  7. 7. And while I make the lunches, I think good thoughts about the people who will soon sink their milk teeth into them.  With each smear of peanut butter I think, “I love you.” I know. It sounds SO RIDICULOUS on-screen. I do the same thing when I’m pulling the daily batches of jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts right side out. I try not to think, “why in the hell do you people not put your clothes right side out before you throw them on the floor? And why do you ALWAYS leave your chapstick in your pocket?” Instead I think, “I love the little arms and legs that go here. And I love the little lips that will now be chapped because the waxy crap that would have protected them is instead heat-fixed in all the laundry.”

One could argue that I rely too heavily on my feelings. Ask the fire breather.  But when I use my powers for good instead of evil, synergy results. Feel makes a great barometer. In the autumn and winter, I like the morning to feel cozy. In the spring and summer, I like it to feel fresh.  In all seasons, I like to feel a little bit of love in my heart, no matter what the day throws my way. And now I feel corny. Peace out.

PS….Feel free to click on my links up there!!! Fun stuff. It’s like looking into my brain without needing to wash your scalpel.

 

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  1. Love it! And you’re essentially practicing The Secret, which is what I’ve been trying to do since this fall. All good. Love them words you write, Big Mama. Now you’ll be one of the regular blogs I read as well! xoxox

    PS — I love the way laundry smells after it’s dried on the line. I was raised in a line-drying household. I’m all about the line and miss it, now that I’m in an apartment.

    • Thank you Robyn. I think you should get a big stick, nail it to your windowsill, put a pulley and a clothesline on it and hang out those garments.

  2. Great post. I’ve always loved your style.

  3. Absolutely Fabulous, ,,I was there with you in the moment,,,we remember our moments:) Thank you,Thank you,Thank you:)
    Love and Light,,adding further success:)

  4. No, wait, I meant #5!

    I’m better with words than with numbers.

  5. In fact, delete both those two, and use the next one.

  6. I love #5. Ha!

    And, WRITE MORE. We love you.

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