Sunday morning

Sunday morning.


There is a relatively small foot steadily poking me in my ribs. Thump. Thump. Not mean, not an aggressive kick in the ribs. Just a steady dig.

I glance over in bed to see Noah, deep asleep, jabbing me with his feet. He is now sleeping sideways and I have been relegated to the furthest corner of my side of the bed.

Laura doesn't have much more room on our ever slimming queen size bed. She is 9 months pregnant, due date is in a matter of days. She sleeps, as well.

Noah was in his bed when I drifted off to sleep around 11. But now, without my knowing it, he has crawled into my bed, scooted me to the furthest corner, and has now begun kicking me gently in the ribs.

I move Noah away from me, he scoots immediately closer. I pick him up, ever so gentle for 6:00am, and drop him a foot or two away. He has landed on my pillow and his tiny head is taking up the whole of it.

I allow it. Losing the pillow is worth another 15 minutes or so of sleep. I settle my face into the ever slimming queen size bed and fall back asleep.

Around 6:30am, Noah is not in the bed.
I sit up. He is not in the room. I hop up and round the corner to the living room. He is sitting in the center of the room 'reading' a Curious George book singing softly, "Hi_ho the Dairy-O.... yeah yeah, the farmer and the (inaudible). Wa wa, the hi-ho." It continues.

"Hi, baby." I groggily mumble.

"Dad Da." He doesn't look at me. "I want cereal." He says this gently.

"O.K." I grab the Cherios.

"Dad Da". He climbs his chair. "I want Oheees, and Gorillas and berry crunch."

I pour all three cereals in a small bowl. Cherios. Gorilla Munch (c/o of Trader Joe) and Triple Berry Crunch. He gobbles it down.

We sit and outside the window it is chilly and wet and the sun is starting to dominate. It is really quite beautiful. I do dishes while Noah eats. He asks me many questions during this time, but what's really on his mind it, "Dad? Are you going to work?" "No", I say. "It's Sunday."


After breakfast Noah and I retire to the couch. He brings me book after book. Hippos Go Berzerk and Miss Mary Mack this round.

Later, he slips into his room. He comes back, completely naked.
I ask him if he's ready for a shower and he says yes. But first he asks me to come into his room. He walks me over to the fish tank and asks, "Where's the black one?"

The black fish had a good run, to be sure, but he's no longer swimming among us. I stumble. I change the subject. "Did you see the baby fish?" I say.

He is fixated on the tank where the black fish no longer swims.

"The black fish died." He tells me. "He went to heaven." Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa Hyatt. I talk him into the shower and save the heaven talk for another year. Or several.

In the shower we brush teeth, wash hair, stack cups. We've got it down to an art, really.

After the shower I gather us both up and wrap the boy in a towel. He tosses it aside, as he prefers to air dry. He comes storming into the living room a few minutes later carrying underwear, mismatched socks, a pajama shirt, and a thick pair of jeans. (It is august)

Not much happens for the rest of the morning. We do some dishes. We put books back on their shelf. We do a puzzle. We feed the fish (minus the black one) and Noah spills half the can of fish food. We vacuum it up. That was three hours ago now and he is still concerned that the fish won't have enough later on. "The (fish) food is all gone." He says filled with concern.


It's 10am. I put on some Elliott Smith. I type this blog. Noah reads while I type, but not before coming over and kicking me softly in the ribs.

All in all, an exceptional morning.