I downloaded this app on my phone a few days ago called "SleepBot." Supposedly it tracks your sleep movements etc, and then wakes you up when you are in the best part of your sleep cycle in a thirty minute window of your choosing. For example, I chose 6:00am-6:30am this morning, and my alarm went off at 6:21am. I dont know if it actually works, but the last two days I have actually got out of bed when my alarm went off, which is practically a miracle.
Of course, if I'm going to drag myself out of bed early, I wish I could write something worthwhile. I sit here and read some Anne Lamott, and wish I had her wit and wisdom. I type some words about the neighborhood, and then delete them. But a friend admonished me "we cant always be writerly" . . . and so here I am with some pictures of my most-adorable children.
I was reminded this weekend of just how beautiful this place can be, particularly under the warm morning sun of spring. When temperatures rise and the streets buzz with life and pulse with music. We lend them our picnic tables, and then venture to join a neighbor's backyard marriage celebration. The DJ plays the wobble, and my children join in enthusiastically, oblivious to their lack of rhythm and milky-skin in a crowd of chocolate. We laugh, and Ma Sands welcomes us with hugs and offers us jello shots, which we politely decline. She apologizes for the joint in her hand and fills our plates heaping with macaroni and baked beans which Caden licks off his plate and Jayci refuses to eat.
And so we dance, and we eat, and we tromp back home to swing on the tire swing and water the garden and admire the rose bush that grows wild and unafraid on the fence, spilling into the street.
Adam has already gathered two pints of early-harvest strawberries from his garden. I pop them in my mouth like candies, their sweet juices staining Caden's chin and Jayci's fingers. We admit they are the best strawberries we have ever had, and I let the kids spray each other with the hose. Summer stands waiting just around the corner, and the kiddos count down the days until their freedom.
Of course, if I'm going to drag myself out of bed early, I wish I could write something worthwhile. I sit here and read some Anne Lamott, and wish I had her wit and wisdom. I type some words about the neighborhood, and then delete them. But a friend admonished me "we cant always be writerly" . . . and so here I am with some pictures of my most-adorable children.
I was reminded this weekend of just how beautiful this place can be, particularly under the warm morning sun of spring. When temperatures rise and the streets buzz with life and pulse with music. We lend them our picnic tables, and then venture to join a neighbor's backyard marriage celebration. The DJ plays the wobble, and my children join in enthusiastically, oblivious to their lack of rhythm and milky-skin in a crowd of chocolate. We laugh, and Ma Sands welcomes us with hugs and offers us jello shots, which we politely decline. She apologizes for the joint in her hand and fills our plates heaping with macaroni and baked beans which Caden licks off his plate and Jayci refuses to eat.
We laugh and play soccer and Jayci doesn't even mind when Caden soaks last year's Easter dress, which makes both for wedding-celebration-attire and gardening clothes alike.
And now Monday morning birds are singing, and Zack is ironing clothes before school (sure proof he must not be related by blood), and Jayci stumbles out of bed to snuggle in my lap while coffee brews. It will only be a matter of minutes now before she needs a "snack," and Caden starts crying for his mommy. In fact, he just did. Happy Monday everyone!