He doesn’t walk, he does backwards rolls into the kitchen. The other boy doesn’t just walk, he somehow makes his feet sound like elephants. She hops on one leg, convincingly pretending that her leg is broken, because she’s always wondered what that’s like. The other girl twirls her hair while she walks down the stairs, looking sleepy and disheveled. The baby, unlike her siblings at that age, still doesn’t know that it’s possible to climb out of her bed, so she squawks and waits with her pink bunny and faithful fingers in her mouth. She giggles when she’s rescued and immediately wants her shoes put on her feet.
Breakfast smells delicious. There are perks to being low on milk, because it forces the making of chocolate chip banana bread. The children are magnetically pulled towards the oven, then shooed back to the couch to wait ten more minutes for it to finish baking. Their appetites are temporarily satiated by hidden pictures and books.
My cup of tea is almost finished. The sleepy hair-twirler is on my lap, cozy pink blanket wrapped around us both. Our morning begins, and I wonder what is being held in store for us today.