Early Morning Blueberries

11 08 2008

Michael woke up this morning bright and early, meaning he was very bright and the morning was very early, and came into my room.  His first demand was breakfast, which my wonderful, never-to-be-sufficiently-praised husband supplied.  I took two maximum strength tylenol and went back to bed, because I woke up with a nasty post-chocolate-induced headache this morning.

It really wasn’t my fault- I invited my husband to sit and watch The Mask of Zorro with me last night (the ultimate cheap date- checked the movie out from the library and sent the kids to bed early!) and he went to the grocery store and brought back cookies and ice cream and Fritos for movie snacks.  He was very secretive about this.  He wouldn’t let me help carry in the groceries and told me to set up the living room while he put them away.   During the prison scene, the timer beeped, and a few minutes later he presented me with a plate of hot cookies arranged around a pile of Fritos and accompanied by a small bowl of ice cream.  Who says romance is dead?  Eleven years and he’s still trying to fatten me up.

But how many of you married folk realize that when your husband goes to all that trouble, you do NOT say, “No thanks, honey, I’m on a diet,” or “Ooooh, that looks nice, but there’s too much chocolate in that?”  No way!  You praise him to the high heavens and then eat the treat!  (I did pass some of the cookies to the little boys, who were irresistably drawn from their beds by the aroma of warm baked goods.)

So I woke up this morning with a cookie hangover and a five-year-old who was ready to explore, create, build, and motivate.  Before I had my shower he pushed me into my clothes and shoes.  I stalled him long enough to brush my teeth and get my hair out of my face, but Bren had to feed Patrick his breakfast.   Then Mike and I were out the door with a blueberry basket.  “Come ON mom,” he called impatiently, “we’re running late!”

Forget unmade beds, unwashed clothes, unchanged babies… the morning was beautiful.  I don’t think I’ve been out that early in years.  Too many night feedings, too many nightmares, wet beds, and grumpy morning people to motivate.  When I was a child, I used to love to be the first one up and out of the house.  I used to love seeing the dew still on the leaves, each with a tiny sun hanging brilliantly inside the drops.  Everything smells fresh early on- there was a light, moist breeze through woods that will be scorched and hot later today.  It was lovely.

The blueberries were mostly withered and soft, but we found a scant cupful on some late-bearing bushes.  Michael’s voice ran on as steadily and continuously as a mocking bird’s song, talking about different ways to cook blueberries and which berries were the best and who should carry the basket now and who should pick.  He was serious in his command of the expedition, and made sure that I paid attention to his orders.  Twice he accidentally dumped the basket and we had to pick the blueberries up out of the sand, and a couple times I picked ones he deemed were too red and got a lecture on unripe berries.

I finally lured Michael back to the house.  We set the basket on the counter among all the dirty dishes I need to wash this morning, beside the dining room that needs to be swept and wiped and down the hall from several piles of Monday morning laundry that need to be done.  Patrick ran up to me and demanded (loudly) to have his diaper changed and his shoes put on.  Brenna came in with her face like a thundercloud, tattling on her older brother.  I noticed our recently spayed cat was nauseous again and had upchucked on the floor.

Michael, undismayed by all signs of chaos, immediately pulled out the kitchen stool and said, “OK!  Let’s make some ice cream now.  Who will wash the blueberries?”

It’s going to be a long day.




One response

11 08 2008

OK, First I would like to say Holy macaroni! I would not allow my children to TELL me anything, You must learn to firmly but kindly remind your children You are the Boss and you tell them, not the other way around, but if you insist I have to say you have the patients of a saint. From reading your stuff I get the feeling that even tho it may come off as complaining, you really enjoy your children and house work can wait. I admire that. I too was a early riser. Sitting on the porch and listening to all the sounds of nature just after the sun peeks over the horizon is THE BEST TIME OF DAY!:-)

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