Monday mornings

Some mornings by the time the girls walk out the door, I am exhausted.

I wake up with Grace sitting on my bed, talking to me. It's almost like she is mid sentence and I finally realize that she is talking and then she asks me what I think. Huh? I'm sorry, I didn't understand, could you say it again?

In the background Annabel is singing a song, probably one she does not know the words to so is just making sounds, kind of like meow, meow, meow.

Since we only have one can of soup and I had some bacon leftover, I thought I would make rice with bacon and vegetables.

Everyone sits poised at the table in eager anticipation for the rice cooker to switch to done, ready, even though it takes at least 20 minutes to cook. The entire time Annabel is still singing her song, only louder and throwing a few questions to me in between, Grace is coughing, sneezing, and blowing her nose, and I am trying to remember if that was 3 or 4 scoops of coffee.

Annabel announces that she will only eat a little of the rice since she is sure she does not like it and then quickly refills her bowl for seconds, maybe thirds if she had enough time in between singing and asking questions.

Grace just looks at me with a pained expression so I can fully understand how badly she is feeling.

Then when it is time to go, Annabel races to the door, singing, dancing, and waving good bye.

I stand there telling Grace to "HURRY!" because Poppa is waiting to take them.

"Hurry" must not translate even after 4 years of knowing English, because it is still a foreign concept to Grace. She slowly and methodically pulls on her jacket, ensuring that the sleeves are the exact length on each arm, adjusting her hair, and then pulling on her coat and going through the same process again.

In the meantime, in the car is Annabel and Poppa. By now I am sure that Dad's ears are pounding with the singing and questions and he is knowing they are going to be late, when Grace finally saunters out, after stopping to kiss me good bye.

Whew!