Sometimes I wake up and imagine I am somewhere else.
In Florida next to my mom and dad on the screened in porch watching the sun rise. The humidity seeping into my skin and warming me up in a way I haven't felt since September. Today I'll run on the beach, then take a cold shower. I'll sip iced tea by the pool and delve into a book. My children splash and dig the day away. I delight in their happiness. The hours will pass as the sun crosses the sky. Palm to palm. Dusk will greet us with oranges and pinks and a sweaty spritzer in my hand, a Seabreeze if I play my cards right. The day will be easy and long and so good.
In Europe on a trip with college friends. The sound of a loud foreign voice will wake us in the tiny beds we crashed in. Open windows to a bustling ancient city street. Market already buzzing. Decadent espresso pouring. I never wear the right shoes for all the cobblestone walking but I make do, my aching feet a distant whine among the adventures. This morning I forgot to read those last pages that are due so we cram over pastries in a street side cafe, run across town to the school room, giggling and observing. Class is the most fascinating ever. It always is because we are here. Somewhere electric and new. Tomorrow we leave for a new city. Tonight is our night to eat with the professor. He orders jugs of wine for the table in the native tongue and I salivate over dishes whose contents I don't know but whose smells tickle my palate in ways I've never known. Each bite is the best I've ever had. We walk the winding streets back to our hostel looking up at the same sky that cloaks our childhood homes oceans away.
In Montana on the top of a mountain. Or, we start below looking up a the peaks as the sun sneaks around the top. I'm up early here so I make a fire. A big crackling booming fire that lasts until it's time to suit up. Layers of wool and soft fleece so snug that stepping out into the arctic air feels fine and invigorating. That first lift up is always the most thrilling. How do I forget how swift and high it goes? I feel brave and strong and in awe each time. I love the gentler slopes. The ones where I don't have to work too hard. I love watching my children weave in front of me, the mama bear bringing up the rear making sure my chicks are in line. No food tastes as good as the bowl of chili for lunch or the cold beer in the hot tub with a stinging face at the end of a long skiing day. No bed feels as good as the plush mountain bed. No sleep as deep.
In Oak Park. In our first house we wake up altogether. The coffee pot broke months ago and us, living off of a grad school stipend, parents refuse to buy a new one when a pour over will do. We divide and conquer our day. Our little city is alive in the mornings. I decide to walk everywhere today because I can. We jog the mile and half to preschool drop off, stopping at a park, the library, the conservatory, and the bakery on the way home. We run into everyone along the way. Hellos and plans made and moods ever lifting. After preschool pick up and lunch I drink in my children. Their chubby cheeks and their squeaky voices, their bodies that fit just so on my hip, in my neck, under my chin on my lap. I make dinner with all three underfoot. Tonight it's a stew I cleverly prepped this morning. I love when I do that. We make fresh biscuits and dip and chew and sip. Life is so simple and full and together. Evenings are my favorites. The finish line is near. We family dance party the night away, or until bedtime. We read our three books, kiss our three babies, kiss each other, and crash.
In the cabin in the Northwoods. We went to bed by the loon call and wake up to the lapping on the shore. Morning work in the sun, cleaning windows and picking up sticks for the fire flows into kayak rides and berry picking. We can't hold the kids off any longer so we pull out the beach chairs, lather up and let them jump in the clear water. We take turns being the wingman on the boat. Laughing as the children tip off the flying tubes and scream in delight. Lose our voices shouting with excitement when a new one gets up on skis for the first time. Before dinner we pile on the pontoon for a slow cruise along the bays. We brings oodles of snacks and sparkly drinks. Dinner is an event. There's no better smell than a grill in summer. Twenty people around a table scooping and passing. Dogs drooling outside hoping for a snitch. We always have dessert. Special treats hidden in the highest cabinets that we always find, or a bonfire and smores made with chocolate candies. Cousins go to bed together. Adults stay up to play games and relax. Time for bed.
Another glorious day ahead.
