Mornings

We wait for the expected miracle, the final morning | Tony Woodlief

My boys (ages 7, 5, and 2) are morning people. I am decidedly not. The little-boy noises begin early in their bedrooms, but soon their authors seek me out, begging me to be the Tickle Monster. They think this is how normal people spend their mornings.

I used to believe they got this from their mother. But perhaps mornings are expected miracles to all children. They wake up with a hopefulness that the world hasn't yet stolen, and remember that their parents (or maybe it is just mother, or just father) are sleeping or reading or making breakfast nearby.

They come to us to hear of what their wiggly little hearts need reminding, which is that we love them more than we can say, especially when we are always saying things like, "Apologize to your brother," and "Sit still," and (in my house), "Let Daddy write for 15 more minutes, and then I'll make you oatmeal with brown sugar on top."