Random Mom Day

4:30 am.

Just another day. 

She wakes up, eyes batting at a slow pace, each eyelid moving as if they’re weighed down. Sleep still fills her head, unsure if she’s seeing the fan slowly spin above her, or if she’s still in the Dominican Republic, sipping on a frozen cocktail as two men fan her, moving as one person. She wishes it were the latter, but she appreciates the dullness of her bedroom ceiling fan. 

The stifled breathing of her husband becomes apparent, nothing longer soothing, but aiding on her journey back from Santo Domingo. She grabs her thick robe, routine activated, and she’s out the door, stepping over the hole of carpet that the dog chewed up days before. It’s become a part of her morning steps. She hopes it’s addressed soon.

#

Ow. 

Her dark skin singes as she yanks away her curling iron. 

I just had to change it up today.

There’s no real reason for it. She wonders if she even really likes her hair in curls, but coming to no real answer (or preference.) She chooses to embrace the excitement of the change. The change of her hair will go unnoticed (unfortunately, her husband included) but it makes her smile, the same smile that she always had, minus the coffee stain on her left front tooth. That, like the hole in the carpet, is new.

Beauty stain.

She checks the burn mark, which isn’t painful, but visible. There’s a good chance that one of these curls will bob in front it. Even if it doesn’t, it’s not like any of her students will notice it anyway. She looks at the curler for a second, looking for clumps of hairs stuck in it, trying to make sense of the burning smell. 

No, no, it’s too early for shedding. 

She sighs of the thought of a new iron. The AC cords folds around the handle and she sits it down on the bathroom sink. Looking up at the mirror, she catches at herself staring. Her smile returns. 

The dog whimpers in the other room. 

What could she want? She knows I walk her before I get dressed. 

She presses her clothes- a green blouse that was purchased last week (just because) with her favorite blue slacks. She was on bus duty, so she couldn’t go with the her go-to skirt style. It’s windy and cold in the morning, and she didn’t want to be any more uncomfortable than she already was out there. 

A loud clang erupts from the kitchen. 

She looks in that direction, knowing that her husband is unconscious for the next two hours, and that she doesn’t have to wake the boys up for another twenty minutes - just enough time to walk the dog, brew some coffee, and make her eggs. If this is some elaborate plan to interrupt her egg time, she’s was going to make an unlucky burglar very unhappy. She moved to investigate.

She finds the two culprits - one standing at about 4’3” and the other at 4’8”.

Frozen in time, they stare at her. The small one was sits in the cabinet where she keeps all of her pots and pans, while the other hovers over the stove, which is off, but he’s holding a spatula over the toaster. 

Why is he holding the— 

She recognizes the burning smell from before. 

“I told him he didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t listen.” said the older one, still half hiding in the cabinet. 

“But I did listen! He said that you liked it burnt, but I knew if we set the toaster on 9 that it was going to all black, and I know that you like it kind of black.” The younger one falls on his behind as he explains himself. 

“What are you guys doing? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Her younger son stands up proudly, with a smile full of missing teeth. The elder take the pan he hovering over and moves it in the sink. 

“I couldn’t remember how to make them over easy, so I just cooked them a little longer to make sure they weren’t raw.” He said look at the sink, like he did something wrong. 

The smell of butter claimed her attention from adorable, but guilt-ridden son. 

It was all set up on the table- toast that is slightly burnt, but it was buttered up and ready for consumption, eggs were seasoned and still giving heat vapors from hot pan that’s not resting in the sink, and three sausage links that were heated up in the microwave (she can tell because the door is still open.) Her breakfast was already set for her. 

“We were going to make coffee-” proclaims the youngest. 

“Not uh, we weren’t going to-” defends the oldest. 

“But you didn’t walk Vivi, yet, so we didn’t have time.”

“I think I’ll manage.” The smile never left her face. She hugs her two children as the dog whimpers in the other room, wishing she could get in on some of action (or the food.)