Portrait of a Morning

I sit in my bed. A faint orange glow from my curtains is cast on my bed by the late morning, storm-muted sun. And I am happy.

I was recently awoken from a dreamfilled sleep by a messy faced, messy haired, tow headed pixie and a mismatched, too small jammies, dark eyed princess- both angels in their own right. They carried a homemade heart-shaped menu and informed me to "pick." I studied it as I would have had I been sitting at a five star restaurant. I made my choices: Juice, Egg Sandwich, Bacon and handed back the menu. The two little girls fled the room to give their daddy, the chef, my selections. The older one ran back in and handed me a hand full of half melted Hershey's Kisses fleeing again in giggles. Alone again I closed my eyes, sunk into my pillow and thought how nice it was to sleep in. Feeling as if I was being watched I opened one brown eye to two hopefull blue eyes peeking up at me (and my chocolates) from the side of the bed. "Peeezze," comes the little voice that belongs to the eyes along with an outstretched hand covered in marker. I placed one of the chocolates in the hands of the little owner of the blue eyes. She toddled off in happy delight. Moments later an I heard an exasperated, "Where did she get chocolate?" from the kitchen. And I smiled because of my secret.

The girls came back to brush my hair and put lotion on my hands and feet. "Isn't this a fancy fancy restaurant Mommy?" They propped up my pillows and handed me a glass of juice and my book then again dashed back to the kitchen for further insturctions. I opened my book to read and found a homemade, definitely MAN made, Valentine. Be mine. A thought from my lover. A tradition from his Grandfather who used to spoil his Grandmother with little notes all day long.

And here I sit. With my juice. And my book. And my valentine. And my chocolate. And the sun with the orange glow. I hear two girls and a man dancing, cooking, laughing in another part of their house. I feel like an intruder listening to their private moments. The music of Paul Simon sings from the speakers, "As long as one and one make two, oohoohooh, There will never be a father who loves his daughter more than I love you." I look forward to minutes from now when I will stop typing, and join them. I'll be spoiled with breakfast, a most certainly filthy kitchen, at least thirty-five more love notes, and three reminders as to why life is so worth living.

I am loved. I am blessed.