She’s crying crocodile tears and howling for emphasis.
The world ended because I turned off the TV as punishment. I can’t even fathom the amount of drama headed in our direction for the teenage years…Aaaaand I think she might be a touch more intense than I was in mine. Tiny baby Jesus help us all.
We were running late and I was running out of patience but I choose this battle for safety reasons. She refused to hold my hand while walking down our new stairs. I have horrifying anxiety about (her) falling down those stairs. Even though they are a glorious annex from our old house to the new extension. Thick, black steel frames holding planks of American oak so smooth you want to bend down and run your fingers over them. A structural sculpture.
One day (hopefully soon) I will paint giant canvases to hang on the walls in the stair-atrium which will add to it’s grandness on a budget.
Screams bring me back into the morning. Defiant. Stubborn. Screams.
Cranky and cold I shove her into a warm coat and carseat as gently as I can muster. I am already daydreaming about it…My morning coffee. Today I get to drink it alone.
I’ll be in and out of that drop-off in two minutes flat.
Back home in my new, sun-lit kitchen I will gather my pre-mixed coconut and almond milk, coconut sugar and a white tea cup, saucer and spoon. I’ll scoop rich-smelling brown granules into my cup before placing it under the Nespresso machine. I will fill the milk-frother to just below the first line and cap it. I’ll push both buttons at the same time and watch the dark, fragrant espresso fill my cup- a wedding gift.
The espresso and sugar will get a stir before they get foam, then I’ll stir everything together. Finally I’ll rinse out the the machine before taking a sip so I could fully relax and absorb the taste.
That day I might take my cup upstairs to the new art studio. I could put on DJ Diplo and friends radio on Spotify, set up my brushes, glob paints onto a palette, and fill old jalepeño jars with water.
Yes that is exactly what I’ll do as I sip and stare at yesterday’s work. I’ll think about where to pick up today and wonder how the paints are going to cooperate. Better than my daughter, I hope.
The first strokes will tell me. Will it be ‘smooth’ or a battle? Will I dig my heels in or will I work around it? Just as I will start to understand what the paint wants, caffeine will kick in and my feet will start to dance a little.
Almost three hours later an alarm will go off- alerting me that it’s 15 minutes until pick-up. I’ll realise I’m hungry and that I need to comb my hair.
I will scramble to clean up as much as I can before I have (oh shit) five minutes to get to the childcare centre and pick up my daughter. Good thing it’s a three minute drive on a good day.
Back then to the dishwasher and chasing crumbs and I will wait another six days to go back to that place where time lunges forward.
What’s your morning ritual?