Waking up this past Monday morning seemed like it was going to be one of those awful Monday mornings where everything goes wrong and you dread the work week ahead of you. I opened my eyes looking out the window to an overcast sky as the backdrop to the spindly bare limbs of the trees, crossing their fingers over their faces yelling “It’s Monday! Don’t wake up!” Thinking of my warm comfortable bed I was tempted to roll over and heed their warning, but Sunshine’s internal clock already had her up and licking my face for food when she suddenly jumped off the bed and puked up what looked like her entire digestive system. That’s one way to get me out of bed.
Vision is particularly blurry when I wake in the morning, so when I got up and walked into the living room greeted by the back-lit figure of a woman speaking in a man’s voice, I should’ve known that it was most likely the illusion of my brother with a hoodie over his head creating the illusory long-flowing hair. Apparantly my brain doesn’t wake up as quickly as I’d wish to catch these optic illusions at the crack of dawn.
Once I realized who it was I asked what it was he said, but when he repeated himself I then realized that I hadn’t yet put my hearings aids in for the day. 6:00 AM is way too early to fully embrace the noises of the world, and as I’m not usually met with strange manly voiced females this early in the morning, I had to inform him of the situation – hearing aids aren’t in yet buddy, so start yelling. Even in an escalated voice I only caught the gist of what he was saying, which was that he was about to leave the house and was it ok to leave his sleeping girls with me while he was out (we’re both living with our parents as we look for new places to habituate). I told him yes.
His daughter, Tessa, has been having a difficult time parting with her dad when she’s with him. With the escalated vocal converstation Pete and I had just had, Tessa must have heard us and woke up. As soon as Pete shut the door I heard/felt her little feet pounding down the stairs and I knew immediately she was looking for her dad when I turned and scooped her up as she ran towards me in tears. I cooed that her dad was coming right back and everything was fine (PLEASE let it be that Pete said he’s coming right back, I thought). Tessa’s small squeaky voice was asking me a question to which I opened my mouth to answer, “…What?” The squeaky voice asked again, crying a little harder as I struggled to comprehend her question to come up with an answer, and I said again “…….What?” Now she was really upset and she couldn’t even speak from frustration.
I sat her down to go grab my hearing aids, leaping and bounding up the stairs into my room, which is more like leap, pause and re-orientate, leap, and repeat. It felt like forever when I finally got back to Tessa and her sweet little face smiled at me and asked, “Can I have some Lucky Charms?”
If waking up turns out to be only as awful as pouring a bowl of Lucky Charms, the rest of the week probably won’t be so bad either, I thought, and pulled the cereal box out of the cabinet.