Epea Pteroenta

Rising and shining at the same time can be entirely too much work.

Saturday morning coffee w/flickr

She hated that radio alarm. The blaring of news at 6:10 was hardly the first sound she wanted to hear, and of course once awake, it was impossible to go properly back to sleep.

She dozed uneasily, drifting in and out of consciousness, until the phone alarm started to go off. Hitting snooze the first time was a matter of course; a second time was risky, but she really didn’t want to get up yet.

Beside her, husband stirred and turned onto his other side; she barely had enough time to hold on to her end of the duvet to avoid it being yanked clean off her. She ended up with more duvet cover than actual duvet, of course; no wonder she had been cold. With the night chill seeping in through the imperfectly fitting windows, and the central heating not working well, she would have to do something about covers, and soon. But that wasn’t the thing to discuss first thing in the morning, either.

6:50, third phone alarm. No more time to dawdle. She turned over and sank into child’s pose, forehead into her pillow, groaning softly. She could very well do with a couple of hours’ more sleep, but even today, with the husband staying at home, that was out of the question. The girl had to have her lunch and be sent to school, and the boy needed his breakfast and general care. She could hear him warbling to himself from the nursery already, much more of an early riser than anyone else.

She got dressed and sleepwalked to the bathroom for the bare essentials. The boy saw her, of course, so she had to stop and give him a kiss and a cuddle, and risk his tears when she went downstairs. It was impossible to sneak past him. When his sister was in the room, he usually didn’t mind mama going away, though today he did grumble. Not much to do about that, either. God, she was tired, and a headache was beginning to bud between her eyes already.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she made a ham sandwich for the girl’s school lunch, sneaking a slice for herself. A bowl of porridge for the husband’s breakfast and a pot of coffee for both of them to share followed. Finally, the boy’s milk and a slice of fruit loaf on his plate. She carried them out into the living room and turned on the TV. Tweenies was almost over; there would be just enough time to get him dressed before Chuggington started.

Up the stairs again, grinding her teeth as her right knee, the wonky one, hurt again. The little one got eagerly enough into his clothes, though he grumbled a bit at having to put his house socks on, but mama wouldn’t have his little feet in contact with the chill seeping through the well-worn carpet. He refused to walk down the stairs, demanding to be carried instead. Knee or not, she didn’t mind that. She loved holding him in her arms, his head trustingly resting on her shoulder. Not too long now before he grew too heavy for her to do that…

As he sat on his little stool and guzzled his milk, entranced by the antics of the animated trains on the screen, she switched on her computer. There would be some forum maintenance work to do, like every morning, and then she would write more on her NaNoWriMo project. But first, some more breakfast, and her meds. The headache was taking shape, and her stomach was churning in response. She downed her pill; she really shouldn’t forget about them, she should keep them where she could reach them, not on the top shelf. Then she bit into an apple, a fresh Royal Gala with shiny dappled peel. It felt so good. She had almost forgotten how wonderful a fruit as simple as an apple could be.

Husband was done with his porridge and went off to his own computer while she poured the coffee – black for him, with raw cane sugar crystals and powdered creamer for herself. She had to hold up the boy at the door first, so he could say bye-bye to his sister as she left for school; it was humid and shiveringly cold out there, even though it looked like it was going to be a mostly sunny day.

There was not much forum work, after all, and that was just as well, because the combination of her head and stomach playing up was becoming too much. She just dawdled about, keeping an eye on the boy, who went about creating havoc in blithe toddler fashion, crying when told off, and doing the same thing five minutes later. Husband would go to the doctor’s on business of his own before the open clinic hours ended, at 10. She found herself eagerly waiting for his return, so she could go upstairs and collapse.