I am the first to wake in our quiet house. I sit alone in the kitchen and drink in the miracle that is this life of mine. Sunlight streams through the kitchen windows and plays with the plants until they are green and gold and silver all at once. The light stripes the counter, too, and my hands as I write. The cats have deemed themselves sufficiently scratched and gone off to explore the world. My tea is ready: chai today, milky and spicy and warm. Soon it will be cool enough to sip. I am surrounded by Saturday’s detritus; in an hour it will be mess that must be tidied, but before anyone else wakes it is memories – books, a board game, a crochet project, a coat tossed on the floor because the weather was too warm.
Eric wakes next, shuffling into the kitchen, cocooned in a soft brown blanket, his tousled blond hair poking out from the top. “Good morning, Mama,” he sighs as he leans his warm body into me. I inhale his scent, leftover from yesterday’s play: dirt and sweat and something youthful that will soon disappear. In the quiet, he allows me to kiss his neck and the top of his head, content for a moment to be mine. Then he shuffles off to his own quiet space.
Above me, I hear the creaks and steps that mean Andre is awake. I can guess at what he’s doing from the way he moves, now making the bed, now choosing his clothes. There is the sound of running water from the sink. In another minute, or maybe two, this morning quiet will end. The cats are already at the sliding glass door, wanting to come in. There is breakfast to make and groceries to buy, schoolwork to complete and bedrooms to clean. Quiet doesn’t linger long in this house.
I take my first sip of tea and savour the way the spices come together before I swallow it down.
Persistence and Pedagogy 
Beautiful. I wrote about my love of early mornings today, too, so your post jumped out at me. My eyes watered when you talked about your son. Such beautiful language that brought me beautiful memories, too.
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This slice is melodic in singing the praises of a new day begun. The warmth, contentment, affection all lend a sense of peace that seems it might last longer than the original quiet.
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This post shines on this line: drink in the miracle that is this life of mine.
You captured this precious moment, savoring, reflecting, and just being present.
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Fleeting moment, captured well. I like the detritus from Saturday, especially the coat tossed to the floor. Even that is a positive, not a negative in this particular moment.
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Such a beautiful moment of peace and tranquillity before the day begins. This could be the beginning of your longer memoir š
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When my children were small I used to get up at 5:30 every morning so I could enjoy the quiet you have so beautifully described. The sun coming up, the slower pace of life, even if only for a few minutes, the clarity of thought – maybe I should start getting up before everyone again.
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You captured this morningās slice of quiet exquisitely during the time it took your chai to cool. So many craft moves to delight in!
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The blessings of a quiet morning. I am the first one awake in my house, but we are empty nest, so most days are quiet. I do appreciate this time alone. I don’t miss the crazy mornings of those early years.
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I keep telling myself we’re in the middle years – I mean, they’re not babies anymore – but, oh!, it is still a busy place!
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“Content for a moment to be mine” is such a perfect line of how a child starts to grow away from you. Your description of the morning starting is so fresh and real and invigorating. I love getting up first too, just the best time of the day!
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Even when seemingly not much is happening, your noticing magnifies the quiet morning’s magic. Thanks for sharing!
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This is such a comforting slice. It’s cozy and familiar and so full of all the loves in your life. And, these lines are just scrumptious: “Sunlight streams through the kitchen windows and plays with the plants until they are green and gold and silver all at once. The light stripes the counter, too, and my hands as I write.”
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