a dream of the past

It is 7:00am, we don’t sleep in around here, John is awake early, Turner wakes early, and a little one kicking inside of me keeps me up frequently. We used to get frustrated with being up at the crack of dawn, but now we don’t just accept it, we relish in it. I have white summery pajamas on, my hair is fairly long (at least longer than it has been in a long time) and brown. I wake and look over at my John laying there in his underwear (it’s white too), he smiles at me and asks me how I slept, if the baby kicked a lot during the night, then he places his hand on my belly. I feel at peace, inside of my heart, in my soul, laying in my white room with a wall of windows looking out at the porch.

A sweet and boisterous little man quickly breaks our silence; the most amazing creature I have ever met. His hair is brown, darker and thicker now that he is a bit older and his skin is that amazing summer olive that it turns. He has car pajamas on and the shorts are a bit crooked from rolling around in his bed all night, my Turner. He jumps onto the bed, somehow always right onto John’s stomach, and puts his ears on my belly and asks why the baby doesn’t talk to him, and when is she going to come out, and how come she is taking so long.

After lounging in bed listening to Turner’s extraordinary dream stories, we roll ourselves out of bed. We decide pancakes and eggs are on the menu for breakfast today. We migrate to the kitchen and I start to make my coffee as I am reminded that I better make that cup last all day. Turner has already put his goulashes on and is outside exploring in the huge yard, still in his pajamas. I watch Turner from the window and John begins making the pancakes. As he makes the pancakes he tells the baby that he is a pancake genius and that she’ll love his pancakes and that her momma is not a cook, so she better love the pancakes. I tell her that isn’t true; I just can’t follow recipes well. After beckoning Turner for the fifth time he finally arrives back inside, there is music playing in the background, the lights are off because the sun is so bright, we all sit down and began serving ourselves. Turner slaps three too many pancakes down on his plate and I ask after he is done with the syrup if he would like any pancakes with his syrup, he responds by putting more syrup on his plate. He asks me if the baby wants some syrup. This is our Saturday morning, this is our life.


In the stillness of this chaos, I close my eyes and take a deep breath and grab John’s hand. In this moment I smile, a true smile, my life has truly begun, my soul is whole, my heart in peace, and I am happy.


Composed June 2009