On my school days (Monday and Wednesday), I’m up early. No matter how much I prepare the night before, it’s a rush to get myself and the girls out the door by 7. Shirts are tugged over heads, pants cuffs rolled up, slow-poke kids dragging heels as they eat Cheerios or yogurt, squeals of delights when Daddy comes downstairs, tears as I brush hair, the stain of blue tooth paste left in the bathroom sink, a diaper changed, milk guzzled, toques, boots and winter coats pulled on, out the door in a flurry of noise and goodbye kisses to Daddy.
We get to daycare and the buzz of activity is louder there, I drop one child off, change her into slippers, hang up her coat and kisses goodbye, then the next who puts on her own indoor shoes, smiles and shouts hello to her friends, her teachers, she gives me hugs and kisses and then rushes to play, eager to see what she’s missed since she was last there.
The car is quiet when I get back in it. The silence left behind by small people is always so loud. The empty car seats, stray Cheerios in the back seat. I turn on the news, turn it up, turn onto the highway, sip my tea, slow down to the pace of the morning traffic.
I’m not a morning person, no matter how hard I try. But lately, these quiet mornings have been so very nice, I wonder what I may have been missing all those years I’ve been sleeping instead of watching the sunrise.