Pretty much every morning, my children get out of bed and, before their feet hit the floor, start yelling my name (okay, wait, they’re not really yelling “Min-deeeeeee” it’s “Maaaaa-Maaaaaaa….”) as they wander around upstairs. When they were younger, I thought it was just what little kids did in the morning to make sure someone would answer them and prove they weren’t alone. But even after I answer them, they continue to do this until I am vertical. So apparently, until/unless they succeed in getting Mama to take the pillow off her head and stand up, it doesn’t count. Plus, they are now 6 and 3, and still they do this, well past the developmental stage where they are testing object permanence (Mama being the object). And while I find it sort of cute, there are mornings when I want to respond “I have been in the same place every morning for the past 31 months; can’t you two figure out where I am without all the yelling?” I don’t say that. But boy do I want to some mornings (typically the mornings when the Mama-yelling starts before the alarm goes off).
This morning was one of those mornings. But after I got the little despots their breakfast and overrode the automatic setting on the coffeepot to make it give me mah coffee early and sagged against the countertop waiting impatiently for the brewing to start, it hit me. Oh. My. God. They’re SO my kids. I’m not literally wandering around the upstairs yelling for my mother, but it’s a pretty grand metaphor for the daily emails/phone calls/IMs that go out to my loved ones as soon as the kids get dropped off…. And here I thought they didn’t get anything from me.
So Happy Tuesday, my anchors to the world. Thanks for putting up with my yelling and wandering every morning. Hope the big cities are treating you well.
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