The mornings are always hectic: getting Sasha up, fed, changed, dressed and ready for school. She insists on brushing her teeth herself (and always missed half of them), and cries when we put her shoes on instead of drawing AssBob for her. But then, after a Big Hug™ and kiss good-bye, Jean and Sasha are down the stairs and the apartment is suddenly quiet.
This is when I drink my coffee and sift through the news on the computer and enjoy a few minutes of peace. It’s a lovely feeling, these calm moments after the women in my life have left, not because I’m glad they’re gone but because the apartment still feels full of their presence—the afterglowish sense of a house that is, though rushed and stressed, essentially in order. Knowing this makes my coffee taste that much better.
Any minute now, though, I’ll hear the trudge of the contractors’ boots on the stairs, and I’ll know it’s time for my own hectic routine to begin (if only to show these workers I’m not a total pajama-clad layabout). But right now could go on forever, as far as I’m concerned.