First thing in the morning is my favorite time of day.
I pad out to the kitchen. I get first dibs on the huge, fresh, coffee pot. As I should, considering past Jessica was kind enough to make it for future Jessica.
The only thing I like almost as much as drinking coffee, is writing about drinking coffee or reading about someone else making and drinking coffee. Maybe this is the novel I was born to write: COFFEE.
I take several gulps and top it up before I settle in to my snuggy corner on the couch. If you’re wondering what this might look like, BB recreated it:
I’m warmed by the thought of my dear family: Captain, BB and RB, all still peacefully asleep or imprisoned in a crib. Their existence all the sweeter because of their absence.
No family member should be seen before 7am. If so, something has gone very wrong and it is unclear who it will end worse for.
In an ideal world, I use this time to write. Otherwise I use this time to drink my coffee. Stare out the window. Check the weather. Email. Text. Browse the news. Review the calendar. Refill my coffee. Will RB to go back to sleep.
I survey my work. The home reorg is well underway. Every day that both kids are at school I’ve been on a tear: donating, storing, returning, consolidating.
RB undoes some of my work. I can count on her to move things back to their original spot, but for the most part I’m winning.
BB has fourteen UNOPENED presents from her birthday almost three months ago. They are in plain sight, unwrapped, but unplayed with.
If they’re still brand-new in December they’re at risk for getting wrapped up again.
I may or may not get around steaming off the wallpaper in BB’s art room, formerly known as the dining room.
When the previous owners’ realtor recommended they remove the dining-room wallpaper, they balked and said they had removed enough already.
I should be thankful the whole house didn’t look like the dining room. A more spiffed up house might’ve invited better offers than ours and then who knows where I’d be now.
I’d be in a home that was featured on the Hoarders reality show if Captain had had his way. Although that house DID come with a school bus in the yard.
So here I am. The giant well-loved Little Tikes slide from 1982 is no longer in my living room. It is waiting in our garage to return to Worcester.
Captain is on board with my clearing out and oblivious to it.
I have a giant, stuffed panda from my childhood. It lived in Worcester until we moved here. All of a sudden we had room for her. She drove down in Captain’s car:
She lived in BB’s room until two weeks ago. I ask BB,
“Do you want the panda in your room?”
“I need her because I stand on her head to reach my books.”
“What if you had a stool there instead?”
I moved the panda to the rocking chair in my bedroom. Both waiting for their return to Worcester.
After several days of sleeping in the same room as the panda, I review with Captain everything I’ve accumulated. I mention the giant stuffie. He asks,
“Where is it?”
This is what I mean by oblivious. The panda has been watching us sleep. Captain has been putting on his underwear right in front of it and it registered zero.
I point to the rocking chair. He exclaims,
“You can’t send Pandy back!”
“Pandy and I drove here together.”
MY giant stuffed panda, who I’ve had for 30 years and feel ready to part with, spent one quality car ride with Captain and now they’re best buds.
She never even had a name before.
The question is does Pandy also need her rocking chair? Send help.