With sleepy morning eyes I descend the pint-sized bed, plod through a fragrant kitchen to the old back porch, opting for play over breakfast. Staring down long wooden stairs, thoughts of running for front pass quickly through and out for lack of immediate interest, overlooking barren yard, I decide on a more opportune time for escape. Inside aromas of cherry pie delightfully penetrate the walls and door, possibly intensifying my desire to stay. I make-believe play, merrily chanting, impatiently anticipating the arrival of my mooing mechanical cow or perhaps it was a barking dog, so much for the favorite. Either way, he moves too slowly for my busy self to tolerate.
Passing through the door to the fragrant kitchen, I poke a pudgy finger into fruity batter on the way to batman and robin, super heros of childhood, favorite toy in tow.
Tiptoeing by the crib, making note of the dozing baby, I'm careful not to wake him for fear of missing sacred dynamic duo dialogue.
Sensing my own impending nap time I now opt for the escape plan and scurry out and down creaking stairs all the way to front porch where I wait, singing silly songs, for the arrival of big yellow busses and laughing school kids and one teen girl relative whom I love to imitate; never quite experiencing the fullness of the wait, the teen awakens me from the oversized rocking chair. She escorts me up creaking stairs, and bids me goodbye.
With a belly full of pie evening happily arrives, with it the man of the house, such a lovely man.
Friday evenings the lovely bears gifts, fuzzy animal soaps that grow ever longer as I become squeaky clean. Finally, night-time ritual ensues, I lavish hugs and kisses all around, mommy, lovely, baby boy, before ascending back into pint sized bed. I reflect on the day and anticipate tomorrow; all in all, a good day.
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