Susan Senator

Here is my ranking of the times of the day:
1) Early morning. This is my favorite, because I feel so happy when I wake up, so eager to begin, so psyched to taste my coffee. I love watching the darkness gradually take on the familiar, beautiful shapes of my backyard view, the gray sky turn lavender and then pink and then suddenly blue. reading my email, unloading the dishwasher, making lunches, all when the house is quiet and I’m alone. It feels like a precious moment to me, kind of an “extra.”

At about 6:30 I have to wake up Max, to take his shower. I go in and he’s all covered up under his indigo comforter, a giant with my baby’s face, now roughened by beard. I can lean over and kiss him, rather than reach up. He is a complicated young man now, but in sleep, I can still remember who he was, who he will always be.

Nat’s already awake because he is such a light sleeper. He says, “Yes,” as soon as I come into his dark room. “You have a few minutes, Sweet Guy,” I say, and he, of course, says, “Yes.” I give him a kiss and tiptoe out but the old floors creak mercilessly.

Ben is never up and has to be awakened several times. His blankets are a mess, his sheets are twisted. He sleeps with an Uglyguy, and sometimes PBG (Purple Bed Guy, who apparently is a Pokemon, whom I don’t recognize) but no more Blue Beary. He is a little precious darling, he has my face, but with small, perfect features (no lumpy nose, no pimples, no marks except for the faint square freckle nestled next to his nostril, furry dark lashes, long, lanky perfectly blond-highlighted brown hair that no salon could ever duplicate.

2) Worst time of day: 4 – 5:30 p.m.. This is when everyone’s around, kind of frantic and nudgy, at loose ends. I’m supposed to make dinner and not eat sweet things, but my body is craving all kinds of bad stuff, and this is when the boys are circling like hawks, sensing the dinner hour, needing food, and just taking it when they can. They snare a mallomar, or some yogurt, corn chips, all when I’m too harried to say, “Take fruit instead.” I can no longer read or write because I really should be cooking. I am tired and grumpy and not at all sure when the relief troops will be here.

3) Pretty great time of day: 9:30 – 10:30 p.m. Kids are all upstairs, Ned and I have an hour to ourselves. He shows me funny stuff on his laptop and I tell him what’s on my mind. We problem-solve, snuggle, laugh, gossip, whatever. At 10:30 I am totally asleep. Ned laughs at how quickly I shut down.