It’s sometimes my favorite part of the day. 6:53-7:00 am. One child has left for the bus, two others and my husband are still asleep until the 7 am alarms jar them from slumber. If I’m not preparing dinner, I absorb this perfect peace and hope to keep it within throughout the day. At this time of the morning I can enjoy my Chicago Tribune comics and a yogurt with no calls of “mama…”.
There are no cell phones jangling in my pocket, no urgent work emails coming in, no children asking me to sign one more form, no husband wanting to know what’s the daily schedule, and even the dogs are laying quietly at my feet not asking to be walked with those whimpering eyes.
Frankly, for these 7 minutes the time is mine alone. I know that no critical or mundane issue is going to make me deviate from my sitting quietly, eating, watching the fattening robins scuttle around the rain-covered grass.
6:59, I hear socked steps slowly slipping down the stairs, one minute before the first alarm goes off. 6 minutes of silence–I’ll happily take it today, before the race begins. C