Awake for cake, maybe?
Something
is wrong about getting up before the sun, but I do. Waking to moonlight could
explain my werewolf mood of the morning. Pure willpower and possibly too much
defaf coffee before bed force me to dash upstairs to the bathroom. I don’t want
to, but in our house of seven plus grandma, it’s the only way to have a
peaceful shower.
My
soul is just not ready to start the day. Or ready to start their day…
At
first, gentle words grace my lips, full of love for my sleeping children: “Rise
and shine, my little chickadees. Time to get up and go to high school.” Just
like Snow White singing to her bluebirds. Okay, minus the little chickadees,
and minus the rise and shine part. “Get up,” said in a reasonable decibel.
Ten
minutes pass.
“Get
up, Elijah.”
“I
am.”
“You’re
not.”
“I’m
going.”
“You
haven’t moved.”
“Get
up, Aaron.”
“I
am.”
“You’re
not.”
“I’m
going.”
“You
haven’t moved.”
Twenty
minutes.
And
no sign of my boys anywhere but snoring under the covers in a room that smells
of rotting broccoli. I’m sure fur is growing along my spine and claws are breaking
through my paws—I mean hands. The bark builds inside me until I burst out: “Elijah!
Aaron! Get…up…NOW! You’re going to miss-the-bus…AGAIN!” When Gene and I named
our little boys, I never imagined a day I’d be screaming the Bible prophets’
names out loud for the neighbors to hear.
The
full moon hides behind the poplars, and the morning fog dissipates, but I still
want to howl.
Next
the empty threats:
“If
you miss it, you bike to school.”
“No
taxi money today.”
“Your
dad left already, so no free ride.”
The
walls shake a bit. Could I cause a small earthquake with my bark?
Finally,
the boys get up, but I’m not done. It’s hard to talk with fangs poking my lip.
But if I don’t announce the time every ten minutes, they’ll miss it by default,
and say they didn’t know how late it was so they stopped to tie their sneaker.
They could be a shoelace off from catching the bus. Sometimes it’s the lost
sneaker or missing backpack. Today it’s a “Can’t find my socks day.” My heart
races as if I’m trying to catch the bus.
“Hurry!
You’ve got two minutes!”
“I
forgot to brush my teeth.” Elijah disappears upstairs.
“One
minute! Where are you Aaron?” He flies past me and out the door.
“Bye,
love you.”
“Love
you too. Have a great day.” My fangs begin to recede.
Elijah
sweeps by me next.
“Bye,
love you.”
“Love
you too. Run!” But I know the time.
Two
minutes later, he’s back. “I missed it.”
I
sigh; all the bark in me, expended. He smiles, knowing the werewolf is gone
like the bus. And I won’t bite. “Could I please call a taxi?”
The
rolling clouds do suggest rain, and I wouldn’t want him sick, biking in the
cold…so I call.
Before
my daughter’s turn to get up, I open my Bible and read Ephesians 4:26… “In your
anger do not sin. Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry…” In
this case, the moon. As sunlight streams in through the window and warms my
face, shame fills my body. I failed again, let that werewolf out and barked
half the morning away. I close my eyes, pray, and let the warm sunshine travel
to my heart. I know I’m forgiven. Again.
Maybe
I’ll do better under tomorrow’s waning gibbous moon.
**********
This
is dedicated to all the werewolf mothers of teens…I can’t be the only one. There
is hope that we’ll be ourselves again. Graduation day?
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