The other morning, I awoke and found George in the kitchen making smoothies. This is normal. George and Eva often enjoy the early morning hours together making smoothies while Vincent and I sleep in as possibly long as we can. On “big breakfast” mornings, Eva helps Daddy crack eggs, discuss different kinds of waffles, and plan the day ahead as they sit together at the dining room table.
Vincent and I eventually emerge in search of coffee and his “regular milk/chocolate milk” sippy cup combo.
I cuddle with both children in our over-sized and overstuffed recliner and watch the news and weather until it’s time to get ready for our day. At that point, I disappear into my room to get ready, keeping an ear out for whatever is transpiring in other corners of the house.
The other day as I got ready, it seemed like I was hearing George’s voice a lot. It echoed from the kitchen, down the hall, and into our bedroom.
“Eva, time to get dressed.”
“Vincent, you need to go potty.”
“Mandy, go lay down.”
Next thing I knew, G was grabbing my housecleaning caddy.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“This toilet needs to be cleaned,” he answered.
“This toilet isn’t bad at all,” I replied. (But heck; if someone wants to clean a toilet, go for it!)
I went back to our bedroom.
“Vincent, stop. Eva, get dressed. Time to get going,” I heard.
I came out of our room and walked down the hall to G.
“It seems like every time I hear your voice this morning, you are sort of ordering people around,” I said gently. “Telling everyone what to do.”
I studied an array of emotion cross my husband’s face as he pondered my assessment.
Then, he lifted his arm and pointed down the hall toward our bedroom.
“Mommy, go get ready for Jazzercise,” he said.
What else could I do but laugh….and get ready for Jazzercise?