Priceless procrastinations and boys with matches

The alarm rang at 5:40. He stumbled to the shower and I searched around for something fuzzy to put on my feet. The maid hasn’t been keeping up with the laundry. I had to settle for a pink sock and a turquoise sock. They’re both fuzzy, though, so kudos to me. I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed because pre-dawn bathroom lighting feels like I’m in a spotlight being incarcerated for an unmade bed. You should see the horrific mug shot.

Mornings are harsh. They require a personal pep talk to force myself from a 100-degree bed (give or take) into the frigid Arctic air of a bedroom and bathroom lacking any source of heat save my own morning breath. It’s an unpleasant way to greet the dawn though I’m convinced it has provided me a sturdier constitution. I’m relatively confident one of those polar bear swims would be a piece of cake. It’s like I train for the big plunge every single day.

Do you ever dream of sleeping until your body says it’s time to awaken? Or waking up to warm sunlight on your rosy cheeks? Me neither. I just wondered if you did.

I dragged my carcass to the kitchen while imagining hot coffee with a splash of French vanilla creamer. Except I couldn’t get to the coffee pot because I cooked multiple times yesterday and didn’t bother to do the dishes. For shame. I froze with indecision. I stood in the middle of the room staring at the mess, trying to determine the best course of action: fight or flight. Hubby walked in just then. I offered him a million dollars to do the dishes for me.

“Show me the money.”

So I walked right up to him, stretched out my arms and said, “Ta-da!” I may or may not have added a little dance move but it’s best left nondescript.

“Ah, yes. You’re priceless.”

He didn’t do the dishes. He did make the coffee, though, so I decided to keep on loving him. Then we had a delightful conversation about teenagers, their disdain for parental units and eye-rolling. I blame it on the false courage afforded to both of us by hot coffee in a quiet house at dawn. He went to work, I sank into a chair with aforementioned caffeinated beverage and my Bible. I like to start things off with a double shot of get-me-through-the-day.

It was then that I smelled burning paper. I discovered a boy in boxer briefs standing by the wood stove. He was holding a flaming match to his math worksheets. He was cold so he decided to start a fire. I suggested clothing as a better option, then lectured him on the unsupervised use of matches. He went to clothe himself and I bundled up for the barn, lamenting the movie Firestarter and wondering what on earth I should do about the potential barn-burner in my midst.

Whew! 7 a.m. already. It’s been a long day.

Maybe I can bribe the girls to do the dishes …



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