I've been up since six, on my day off, which still counts as sleeping in since my alarm is usually going off at five-twenty. Sam was already awake.
(Snort.)
Happy Mother's Day, he whispers and Lochlan stirs almost telepathically, snaking his arm back around me and pulling me away from Sam. Sam gets up to go but leans down to kiss my forehead. See you in a bit, he says.
Busy day. Church will be packed. Every mom gets a beautiful flower and a package of seeds to grow more at home. Sam will talk of how mothers are spiritual in their own right, unselfish and nuturing and that today we celebrate motherhood. I roll my eyes and laugh to myself at the thought, as my own children will stay home sleeping in, in the sun on the point and haven't been to church for months, as they are allowed to choose whether or not they go and at this age it's a solid nah, but they will if Sam really wants them to. Sam lets them off the hook. He didn't go when he was their age either. They'll join us when they are ready again. He's fairly confident and so I let him lead.
Ben sleeps on. Lochlan sleeps on. I don't really want to go today. Too crowded. Parking sucks. Sam will be stuck there until two so I'd have to bring my own car. I text him at eight to let him know I'm sleeping in and he cuts and pastes an all-caps litany about eschewing Christ from some Fundamentalist website spanning some fifteen pages into my text messages. I laugh and put my phone down.
An actual day off.
I look around.
Huh.
Not sure what to do first. Make another cup of coffee or bring some juice out to the pool, since we don't have the outdoor kitchen stocked yet. Stay in and read or go out to the hammock and nap? Sit on the front porch and draw or finish the laundry and get ahead for the week?
Laundry wins, as I head downstairs and throw in a load of towels. I can have coffee and draw while the washer does it's thing, killing two birds with one stone.
My plans are thwarted when I reach the laundry room downstairs, running into Dalton in his pajama pants, sorting t-shirts from jeans, sporting his customary Sunday brunch boner. He's a rager in the mornings. He's super-sexual. Worse than me sometimes but also...better. Ha.
Sorry. I can wait if you want to put a load in.We both burst out laughing because we're horrible people.
Go ahead, Dalt. You look like you're ready anyway. (I can hold my own with the boys. They raised me on this humor.)
Wait. Are we still talking about chores here? Also Happy Mother's Day. He leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
Yes, we're talking about chores.
Damn. Too bad. He says and he smiles, hits the button on the washer and heads back down the hall.
I would have followed but I'm trying to follow Sam's description from the sermon he practiced earlier in which I am supposed to be 'unselfish'.
Christ, indeed.
(Snort.)
Happy Mother's Day, he whispers and Lochlan stirs almost telepathically, snaking his arm back around me and pulling me away from Sam. Sam gets up to go but leans down to kiss my forehead. See you in a bit, he says.
Busy day. Church will be packed. Every mom gets a beautiful flower and a package of seeds to grow more at home. Sam will talk of how mothers are spiritual in their own right, unselfish and nuturing and that today we celebrate motherhood. I roll my eyes and laugh to myself at the thought, as my own children will stay home sleeping in, in the sun on the point and haven't been to church for months, as they are allowed to choose whether or not they go and at this age it's a solid nah, but they will if Sam really wants them to. Sam lets them off the hook. He didn't go when he was their age either. They'll join us when they are ready again. He's fairly confident and so I let him lead.
Ben sleeps on. Lochlan sleeps on. I don't really want to go today. Too crowded. Parking sucks. Sam will be stuck there until two so I'd have to bring my own car. I text him at eight to let him know I'm sleeping in and he cuts and pastes an all-caps litany about eschewing Christ from some Fundamentalist website spanning some fifteen pages into my text messages. I laugh and put my phone down.
An actual day off.
I look around.
Huh.
Not sure what to do first. Make another cup of coffee or bring some juice out to the pool, since we don't have the outdoor kitchen stocked yet. Stay in and read or go out to the hammock and nap? Sit on the front porch and draw or finish the laundry and get ahead for the week?
Laundry wins, as I head downstairs and throw in a load of towels. I can have coffee and draw while the washer does it's thing, killing two birds with one stone.
My plans are thwarted when I reach the laundry room downstairs, running into Dalton in his pajama pants, sorting t-shirts from jeans, sporting his customary Sunday brunch boner. He's a rager in the mornings. He's super-sexual. Worse than me sometimes but also...better. Ha.
Sorry. I can wait if you want to put a load in.We both burst out laughing because we're horrible people.
Go ahead, Dalt. You look like you're ready anyway. (I can hold my own with the boys. They raised me on this humor.)
Wait. Are we still talking about chores here? Also Happy Mother's Day. He leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
Yes, we're talking about chores.
Damn. Too bad. He says and he smiles, hits the button on the washer and heads back down the hall.
I would have followed but I'm trying to follow Sam's description from the sermon he practiced earlier in which I am supposed to be 'unselfish'.
Christ, indeed.