I woke up to the kind of morning where the light is just right and the breeze cool enough to warrant another burrow under the covers. It was 8am and I wanted to sleep more but the mister was already up the peak that we can see from our backyard, the mama a-go-go was scraping marmalade across her toast, and the witch-baby was howling underfoot for more food, or more lap, or more something...
I woke up easy to the frog song and lazed in bed, thinking of what to wear for a brunch date almost an hour away with my oldest friend who knew me when. I really should get up get dressed...drink some water, and wash the racoon under my eyes.
I woke up hungry and thirsty and maybe even slightly wheezy as is the norm for me. As I contemplated leaving the warm covers, the mister comes whistling in from his hike. My eyes snap open "I'm awake! I've been awake!" I always feel a little less good in the mornings in this family of early-risers. I roll out of bed and get dressed for the day.
I woke up this morning thinking it was just like any other day. I dressed quickly, gulped a glass of water and had a slice of peanut butter pie for my first breakfast. I checked to make sure I wrote the directions to the brunch place and posted a photo to Instagram, read a Facebook message from another dear friend and sighed about, beginning my day, and then it hit me...
I woke up this morning thinking "it's my mother's birthday" and I missed her as deeply as I did on the day she died. With a gasp and a tear, I thought, oh how she would have liked to wake up to the song of frogs, the harsh screech-screech-screech of one very put out bluejay, the long whistles of goldfinches, and the less harsh but equally put out symphony of barks from my neighbor's dogs. She would have liked to see the peak, especially in it's spring green glory, she would have loved the whistling mister, and she would totally be down for peanut butter pie for breakfast. Happy birthday, Mamos.
