Morning has broken

I'm a morning person and relish my silent and crepuscular activities. Much as I hate to admit it, I used to dread the sound of little feet hitting the floor in the morning before I was ready to interact with the world on its terms, especially when it was before 6 am. If I don't get a little time to gather myself, I'm a bit of a beast.

But now, the girls sleep until 7. I can count on it, and I can write and meditate and get myself all ready for them.

Since we've been in Montana, breakfast is our main family meal —something yummy and hot, like pancakes or dutch babies or oatmeal, and usually with a furry friend at our side. (Or in a bathrobe.)

Sometimes our silly mornings stretch out impossibly long, which is because they are. Getting to school on time is a bit of a race.

There are lunches to make, and snacks, dogs to decorate with marshmallows, dishes to clean, and loads of layers to adorn ourselves in.

And dancing takes priority over teeth brushing and all other practical activities. I'm the most practical person in the house, (frightening,) so this used to make me really crazy. But I've submitted. It's been harder than I care to admit. But I've learned a lot from just taking it as it comes.

Two mornings ago, Stella awoke to the bright moon setting in her window, and she dragged me from my writing perch out into the hot tub, where we watched the full moon set over Chris' shop.

The owls called to each other, a deer crept along the periphery, and a flock of geese flew overhead. It's all right here if I can just get out of my own way.