Portrait of a Sunday morning

I woke up this morning to rain. And the sound of The Boy's voice. Please don't come in here, I prayed. The Girl was still sleeping, and hadn't slept all that well; we have a playdate this morning that if she's overly tired will be disastrous. The Man got up, put on a movie for The Boy, back to bed. The cat meows. The cat is outside, in the rain. The Man lets him in, dries him off. The cat continues to meow, wanting back outside. The Man lets him out. Back to bed again.

Around 7am The Girl's internal clock went off and her eyes popped open. She has amazing circadian rhythms that way. 7am, awake, every morning. The Boy was similar at the same age. I never set my alarm for work.

I ply her with a box of bandaids, her favourite toy, for a few more minutes in bed. Out of the box! Into the box! Out of the box! Into the box! Ok, not so much with into the box.

I get up, The Boy is watching his movie, let in the cat, who concedes defeat from the rain and wanders inside, quiet this time. I cut up bacon, both children herd into the kitchen. The Boy gets his stool, watches it cook, The Girl demands up so I end up, as I so often do, cooking on the stove with The Girl in the sling and The Boy watching.

I make coffee, stir the bacon, get out eggs. Crack eggs, scramble, drain bacon, dump in eggs. Coffee brews. Finish cooking, get plate, go to change diaper. The Boy burns his hand on the pan trying to be helpful and take eggs to table. Get freezer pack, soothe tears, sit on kitchen floor cradling both children. Take eggs to table, wipe high chair tray, change diaper (not there, in the other room!), sit The Girl down, pick out eggs for her. The Boy eats. I eat. I encourage The Girl to eat but while she tries she does spit out every bit of egg she gets in her mouth. Decide that she could use some help with solids.

Finish eating, wipe down The Girl, pick her up, wipe down tray, go get coffee. Finally. Sit down to try to do grocery list. The Girl wants up, needs breakfast. Nurse.

Help The Boy clean off coffee table. Negotiate over whose responsibility it is to take away mess thereon. Help open playdoh. Dole out playdoh to each child. Sit back to enjoy coffee.

Get five minutes. If that. More playdoh negotiations, some tears, pay attention, look what I made.

And a dirty diaper will get me to my feet again. Two hours into the day. No rest for the weary.