Every morning, I hope for a calm start to my day. My caramel macchiatto perches on my nightstand, my laptop sloftly glows, and my fingers are all primed to conjure my crowning achievement. And for a fleeting thirty seconds, my world is peaceful and calm, and I almost believe I have mastered adulthood.
But as I crawl back into bed, tucking in covers, shifting to make myself comfortable, I find myself resting atop Mitzi’s Lamb Chop. Wriggling around, my escape attempt sends me crashing into Max’s chipmunk, which squeaks in outrage after my big toe pokes it hard in the belly. Each shift triggers a series of squeaks, as if tiny referees beneath the covers are loudly keeping score. Amid all the commotion, I seriously wonder when I surrendered all control of who gets to claim my bed.
At last, the toys are cleared away, and it’s time to get down to work.
Cocooned in blankets, laptop balancing on my knees, caramel macchiato in one hand, I try to wrangle clever thoughts with the other. And I finally ease back into writing.
But my reality is never far behind, and it comes with paws and bright-eyed innocence. It sneaks up the ramp, prepared to pounce on my peaceful morning.
My Muttley Crew eyes my coffee with the cunning of caffeine-obsessed spies, scheming to steal every single drop. They inch closer. Happy wriggling bodies ready to devour my whipped cream. As they advance, a pair of daring tongues dart toward my mug. Suddenly, my literary hopes evaporate. I become a pajama-clad sentry, protecting my mug like it’s a matter of survival, and honestly, it just might be.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say, pulling my cup slightly out of reach.
They pause, blink, and advance again.
So, for now, writing must wait while I dodge furry ambushes and thwart a caffeine caper. The room erupts into chaos and giggles, a joyful uproar. And honestly, I would not trade this wild morning ritual for the world.
Tales of a Family 