i love my kids in the morning.
That might sound like a bold statement as if I don’t love my kids the rest of the day. I love both of them every minute of every day. But the morning is my favorite time, when my love and often-unstable emotions overflow into overwhelming joy. Enough explaining.
I love my kids in the morning. Before they are corrupted by sugary sweets. Before they think the other kids at school are funny and they really aren’t. Before they are forced to put on matching clothes. Before they start substituting “poop” for lyrics in a song. Have you ever heard the other version of All About That Bass called All About That Poop? Before the very-real four year old struggle rears its tantrum-y self. Before she realizes she hasn’t eaten in a half a day and needs to keep her figure. Before he thinks he’s too good for Paw Patrol or The Backyardigans. Before she realizes she can crawl and tries to walk.
They need us in the morning. They need us to help them out of bed, help them change clothes, help them make breakfast. They need us to turn on the television and build a Lego castle. They need a shoulder to rest their head on for just-a-few-more-minutes-daddy.
There’s a single moment in the morning when Harper and Kaeden, separated for eight hours by a single wall, see each other. And it’s as if they see each other for the first time. He calls her “Harpy Garpy” and she presses her lips against his forehead. She’ll stay close to him and he to her.
He’ll run by and she’ll crawl by in equally cute pajamas headed anywhere. Anywhere together. Sometimes they’ll sit and watch a cartoon. And other times, he’ll build something and she’ll tear it back down. And if I’m lucky, they’ll want me to play along.
In the mornings, for a brief moment before the sun fully comes through front windows, I lose any sense of my surroundings. I forget how little sleep I got the night before or what things I’ll be asked to do that day. I feel as if I’m seeing them play for the first time, seeing them giggle for the first time and seeing that sentimental childhood I’ve only watched on television.
The dreaded mornings are coming. The snooze buttons, the you-are-going-to-be-late screams, the early mornings after a late night out. Those are all the just-wait-until responses I’ll hear from people who’ll read this. I really don’t care. I know they are coming. The wheels will soon come off.
But for now, our mornings together, however beautiful and cluttered, are enough.