Morning so far

I woke up late to the smell of pancakes. Downstairs the boys are just finishing their breakfast and hubby hands me a plate and a cup of tea. Owen and Graham rush back upstairs to play and Benjamin climbs up to sit on my knee while I eat.

Benjamin tells me 'I want a snack' and points to the countertop. 'You just ate breakfast' I say. Benjamin says 'I want one of those' and slides off my knee to point to the tupperware full of naked gingerbread men that I baked last night. 'You can't have one of those,' Hubby says. Benjamin's face begins to pout. I tell him, 'We'll decorate those when I come home.'

'But I already have one,' he says. Hubby and I look at eachother. 'Can you open that container, Benjamin?' Hubby asks. Benjamin grabs the tupperware and pries off the lid in mere seconds. 'Did you already have one of those this morning?' I ask him. 'Yes, I did.' He is very pleased with himself. I smile. 'Well, no more until later.' 'Okay,' he says and scampers off to find his brothers.


A little bit later I bundle up and head out to work. We've gotten a few inches of new snow since last night, light airy snow that brushes easily from my windshield. Sally Cat and Calico run toward me, hoping for table scraps. Sorry kitties, we ate all the pancakes. I tell them they'll likely have lots of meaty bone leftovers from our spare rib supper tonight.


The goats bleat raggedly at me. The first bleats of the day are a bit hoarse, like the first words spoken in the morning. They stand at the door of their barn, staring at me. I tell them I'll give them grain when I get home. They watch me as I get into the car and drive out of the yard.


Seven minutes later I am at the park. Two cars have been here before me, leaving their tire tracks in the new snow. They must have scared the deer away from the office; all I see are trails of tracks loping away into the trees.


I walk up to the building and see the stalagmite icicle beneath our furnace vent. I am reminded to check the LP level on the tank -- down to 22%. Better call the co-op tomorrow morning for a delivery.


Inside the office it is warm and quiet. I sit at my desk and look up to see the pictures Graham drew for me on post-it notes hanging on the wall. They are pictures of him and me holding hands. On one he drew us inside a house, and asked me to write 'I love you.' He is in kindergarten, still learning to write. Soon he will be able to write his own love letters to me.

I sigh, and try to focus on work. There are lots of deadlines coming up, lots of reports to write before the end of the year. But all I can think about is decorating gingerbread cookies and how much frosting will stick to my kids vs. the cookies this evening. And how much fun we will have, listening to Christmas carols and sneaking gingerbread bites.

I smile. It's been a good morning so far.