Early in the morning, before the sun has begun to give light to the world, she wakes. She stumbles quietly to the kitchen, expertly avoiding the toys littering the floor.
Bleary-eyed, she measures the water. How much should she make this morning? She pours it into the coffeemaker.
Before she can open the bag to measure out the coffee, she hears stirring in the childrens’ bedroom. She shuts her eyes, pretends she doesn’t hear it. Just as she turns on the coffeepot, little feet patter into the kitchen.
“Up, mommy,” he says.
Sighing, she lifts the child into her arms. He is still warm from sleep.
With one arm, she opens the dishwasher and begins to empty the silverware tray. Work is slow because the toddler wants to cuddle. He presses his cheek to hers.
A shrill beep. Coffee is ready. She blinks twice, takes out a cup, and pours. Cream and sugar? Before she contemplates the answer, they are in her cup.
Quietly, quietly, she trips over a wooden train track while she tiptoes downstairs. She turns on the television for the child, then heads to her computer and the inviting cup of coffee. Not yet awake for ten minutes, it is time to write.
Copyright Sarah Unsicker, 2014. All rights reserved.