Beep, beep, beep
. The sound of the alarm nudges me out of my perfectly pleasant dream. I feel the coolness of the air as my arm pokes from the blankets to hit the snooze button. The bed seduces me with its warmth. Pulling the blankets close around my chin, I roll over to finish my most recent dream. I experience the sensation of my body slowly lulling itself back into a sleeping state. Swishing down the slopes, I manage to pick up my dream right where I left off. As I maneuver the moguls with expert skill, I feel the coldness of the snow spraying my face. Chhhhhhh, the snow sprays as I come to a complete stop in front of the lodge. I securely snap my goggles on the top of my head. Click, click. I release my boots from the bindings, grabbing my skis; I place them in the rack with my poles. A gentleman shuffles to hold the door, while I make my way towards the lodge entrance. “Thank you,” I nod my head in appreciation of the gesture. He smiles back with a boyish grin, “you’re quite welcome.” Behind me, I hear the thud of his ski boots hitting the floor, while I make my way to the fireside. Before I have a seat, I capture a cocktail waitress and place my order for a cognac. I decided to sit facing the windows to view the slopes. I hear a familiar deep mumble in the distance, but ignore it, as I allow the warmth of the fire to consume my body. Stripping myself of the outer layer of clothing, I settle in, the back of my head resting on the sofa, I gaze at the skiers making their way towards me. “Did you order a cognac?” It was the tone of the same familiar deep voice I heard at the door. I roll my head towards the voice. There, before me, stands a figure sporting the same boyish grin and holding two cognacs.Beep, beep, beep
. The alarm sounds once again. This time, I pop my head from underneath the blankets and focus my eyes on the digital numbers. It turns out I fell back to sleep for an additional thirty minutes, although, it only seemed like a minute. Beep, beep, beep. The sound of the coffee pot echoes in the kitchen, telling me there is fresh coffee to drink. I fling back the covers, exposing myself to the morning coolness. Answering the alarm, I hit the off button and slide my feet into my slippers. The dog, roused by my movement, follows me to the kitchen for my morning poison. I grab my favorite coffee mug, the one with the Far Side cartoon on it. There are many mornings I feel it depicts the story of my life. A cat looking in the clothes dryer following the arrows pointing to ‘cat fud’ and a dog hiding on the side of the washing machine with the cartoon bubble above it’s head iterating, “Oh, please. Oh, please.”Equal and a splash of cream, I grunt to myself, “coffee good,” I run the mug under my nose absorbing the aroma of fresh brewed coffee. I turn to lean my back side on the counter as I take my first official gulp of coffee. I notice my dog. She is now laying in the middle of the kitchen floor, ears perked and eyes intently staring at me. Almost as if to remind me she is there, she conjures up and releases her vocal good morning. She is patient with me; yet, the eagerness in her body is evident. She is waiting for me to open the door to let her out for a morning romp. I open the kitchen door. She rushes outside as if I am going to change my mind and suddenly close the door forbidding her to exit.
I embark on my morning routine of showering and dressing before the boys wake to begin their day. Actually, I cherish the one hour of solitude in the morning before I have to face the hustle and bustle of daily responsibilities. Still toting my coffee mug, I head for a refill. I open the kitchen door. The dog rushes in the house, almost with the same demeanor as she exited. In one leap, she flings her tennis ball into the dining room.
I hear the faint cry of a six o’clock alarm going off, a couple minutes later I hear the bang of the toilet seat hitting the tank of the toilet. I stand in the kitchen preparing breakfast, quietness eludes me as the toilet seat bangs against the porcelain once again and a flush follows. Kevin emerges from the hallway and sits sleepily at the table. I place a muffin, banana and orange juice in front of him. He tilts his head, kisses me on the nose and whispers, “good morning mom.” I sit across from him at the table, while I gaze in admiration at the fine young man he is becoming. Not a word is spoken, he eats and I drink. He gobbles down his breakfast and disappears to get dressed. It amazes me every morning, the child who has trouble mustering up three words, transforms into a chattering puberty case within sixty minutes. I keep checking for some magic portal every time I clean his bedroom, but I have yet to locate one. By seven o’clock, Kevin is bouncing out the door to catch the school bus and still chattering away as he walks through the yard. “Whew, one down and one to go,” I utter to myself as I tidy up after Kevin. I often wonder, because I can never remember that far back, if puberty has some unwritten rule about being sloppy. I’ll have to remember to ask my mom. She will probably say yes anyway. Then again, I’ll probably forget to ask her and have this same thought tomorrow morning.
I have thirty minutes to sit down and answer any emails from my customers. The business I began eight years ago is slowly finding itself to the internet highway. I am very pleased with the way it is growing. I guess the website was inevitable. Before I sit at my desk in the kitchen, once again, I refill my coffee mug. Suddenly, the window in front of my desk distracts me, while my backside subconsciously assumes the chair is behind for sitting. After all, my attention focuses on the sun kissing the freshly fallen snow from while we slept. The daylight greets me from outside as I flip open my laptop. The window never fails to provide a source of entertainment for my thoughts.
“Oreo,” a voice calls from the bedroom. The dog swoops up her tennis ball and bounds her way down the hall. My thirty minutes were about up, when like clock work, I hear my second child shuffling around. Bang. I hear the sound of porcelain. Every morning I brace myself for Zachary, he is a little livelier in the mornings upon waking than Kevin. Instantly, I feel arms wrapping around my waist from behind, “good morning momma.” Every morning, I am graced with a smile in his voice and a smile in his eyes. Muffin and banana in hand, I turn and kiss him as he puckers up.
Experience has taught me to eat breakfast with Zachary to hurry him along. I sit across the table from him nodding my head and an occasional “hmmmm,” escapes my vocal chords to satisfy him that I am paying attention. My mouth is filled with Special K cereal, as he jabbers away with a 1,000 thoughts. The next thirty minutes will provide me with the daunting task of officially being a mother. Zachary has a tendency of finding a pair of shorts to wear in twenty degree weather, which will only lead us to a drag em out argument only for me to prevail. Zachary in the bathroom and I in his bedroom, I have to listen closely for the water and the sound of spitting to know if Zachary really is brushing his teeth. I guess the mind of a nine year old deems teeth do not need to be brushed, but then again, I beginning to believe that is only his way of thinking. I lay a choice of clothes on his bed. I find, if he is given a choice, he is not as adamant to wear “his style,” whatever that may be for a nine year old. After he dresses, he revisits the bathroom to comb his hair, again. He places a blob of gel on top of his head and runs his fingers through his hair carefully to make each hair stand up. “Come on Romeo,” I scoff as I grab him by the back of the shirt. He retaliates with the remark, “I look good and don’t touch the hair,” as I get a whiff of his all too strong Axe body spray. With enough time to put his shoes on, the bus pulls in front of the house. Zachary is out the door flinging his backpack over his shoulder mumbling how tomorrow he is going to pick out his own clothes. “We’ll see,” I grin.
I close the door. I turn around, my back against the door as if to secure it in some protective way. I begin to slide down the door, ‘plop’ my butt hits the floor and I release a sigh of relief. “Two down and none to go,” I remind myself. The dog slithers over and places her head on my lap for attention. Placing my hand on top of her head, I start talking as if she understands every word. I outline the morning’s events starting with the fact; I would just once like to finish a dream. After all, just once, I would like to know if I actually do get the guy. I wondered how long Kevin’s pre-pubescent stage was going to last. I’ll have to ask my mother how long did mine lasts. Who am I kidding? I will forget to ask. As for Zachary, I have come to the conclusion he is nine years old going on eighteen years old. “You know Oreo, the best mornings are meant to be repeated and we’ll do it all over again tomorrow and I suppose as they grow the mornings to follow will bring a new phase to the word motherhood,” I pat her head one more time and I scurry to my feet focusing on digital numbers.
I now have fifteen minutes before I have to leave to make my ten o’clock class. I let the dog out one more time, fill my travel mug with coffee, make sure the dog has water, gather up my books and stand in front of the door going over my mental checklist. Opening the door I step onto the porch, however, on this particular day, before I close the door behind me, I take a moment to realize the significance of passing through a doorway and comprehend that there are two sides in all the aspects of being. Every day, I recognize the two lives that exist on each side of my door, but the thought, when I walk through the door; I am the one who brings them together. At the beginning of the day and the end of the day, the pieces of my life pass through the doorway, one by one. However, I always have a comforting feeling of knowing no matter which way the door opens God will put it all back together for me.
