Saturday mornings started with Smurfs, Snorks, and Gummy Bears. Then the Top 40 Countdown with Casey Kasem. Eventually they were married mornings with newspaper, coffee filled and refilled, hawaiian bread french toast. Baby Silas breakfasts were at any place opened by 7, and with Eden in tow, we met families on chilly patios where the up-and-down-spilled-water-syrup-hands was permitted.
DC brunches instead of breakfasts, so our Saturdays often land on Breakfast at BB's, with my brother's family, always coffee and bacon.
Maeve has not coordinated with the rest of the family on Saturdays -- no plotting to watch Phineas and Ferb, or to sleep until someone makes her wake, or to read alone with tea. She just wants breakfast. So on Saturdays, like every day really, we sit at the table together.
Today we've been up for what feels like ages. I've poured bowls and bowls of Spoonfuls, waved to her through the window while filling the bird feeder, drank tea, watched milk drip down her elbows as she insists on eating cereal with her hands...
One day I probably will sit here for hours alone while the rest of the house sleeps, busy with growing and dreaming. Hard to imagine such things. In the meantime, I will sit listening to Maeve name the house asleep in a forced whisper:
Dada sssssssss (sleeping)
Hiya (Silas) ssssssss
Doda (Eden) ssssssss,
again and again as the morning brightens.
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