Like most families, our weekends are crammed full of errands and chores. I always go to bed late on Sundays tired and achy from doing too much. I kinda dread Sunday nights.
But Sunday mornings are another story. We feed horses, we feed ourselves, we stay in our pajamas a little longer than usual. Sometimes I make pumpkin pancakes, sometimes we eat oatmeal. A recent Sunday morning was a little extra special. It was just Beep and me, because Cabbage was off hunting and doing man things.
When he's off in his man-cave, partaking of extra testosterone, and submerging himself in the esoteric rituals of eating jerky and lying in wait, Beep and I have girl time.
I awoke early as usual, and watched vacuous television until the sky began to lighten. I listened for my girl on the monitor and relished some lazy time. When she began to stir I finally roused myself. When she started talking about Annie, and milk, and asking for Sam and Tabor, I padded down the hall and lifted her warm, footie-pajama'd body from the crib for a snuggle on my left shoulder. Beep wakes up slowly, like her mama.
When she was fully awake, I got her dressed and we both put on shoes. I warmed a tall mug of milk with cinnamon and agave, poured some into a sippy cup for her, and took the rest with me. Out we went into the grey morning to take care of animals.
We go through a lot of deer corn these days, because *someone* insists on feeding the deer anytime she thinks of them.
I haltered Sam and we walked him to the tree to tie him for a few minutes while I cleaned his stall.
This is not a polo field and those are not divots and we are not cultured. Something- either a raccoon or an armadillo- is digging up chunks of hardened mud in front of our barn.
Welcome to my life.
Naturally, Annie contributed to the mess by dragging out a piece of trash from somewhere. Because we need help junking the place up.
With the stall cleaned and Junior's breakfast waiting for him, I gathered him from the pasture and put him in the stall.
Then I put Sam's feed in the pasture and turned him out. It's so nice to finally have my old friend out my back door.
We fed the mares.
Then we (I) became distracted by a sudden impulse to finish taking down the last of the Christmas decorations on the gate.
And finally, it was time for us to go inside and feed ourselves. A few short minutes and we had scrambled eggs and english muffins.
After, it was on to laundry.
And so on. Eventually, it was time for a morning nap. That meant a clean diaper, a few sips of water, three books read, and a blessed snuggle in the small wooden rocker in a corner of Beep's room.
I bury my nose in the nape of her small, silken neck and feel her fine hair move with my breath. She leaves her cheek on my shoulder, pats my back with her little starfish hand. She squiggles in, drawing her knees up, then thrusting her feet in a way that reminds me of her kicks in the womb. I gather my baby closer, and rub her back in circles. It is a singular moment with my child.
It is any given Sunday.
