There was a time in my life - and I vaguely recall this now - where mornings were calm and measured and consisted of leisurely drinking several cups of coffee. Most days I slept late. I loved sleep. It was always so good to me. These days, mornings at our place are early, frenzied, and chaotic. My pajamas are usually spackled with some kind of mushy cereal left behind by sticky little fingers. Coffee is quickly consumed in between diaper changes, the making and feeding of waffles and oatmeal, and doling out sippy cups. My brain is generally muddled and fuzzy, much like this photograph.
I love the fullness, even if I do miss the sleep. And I barely recall what it was like to shower without two little ones bursting in the room in order to jump on the bed, take everything out of the bathroom drawers, and leave a 10-ft. trail of cottony, white toilet paper unraveled across the floor.
Our peaceful morning routine is a distant memory, but our morning chaos is a thing of beauty.
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