Last Monday morning, I stumbled out of bed early, EARLY, like I do, so I could possibly carve out a few minutes of the day to have to myself. I poured my coffee, still not really awake, and sat down at the computer so I could enjoy a few minutes to myself before the mad rush of the day really got underway.
I hadn't been sitting there a minute before I heard the smack-smack-smack of little feet on the floor, and my attitude took a turn for the worse because I knew that any hope of time to myself was going to go straight out the window. I was quite literally in the middle of a self-serving, long-suffering sigh when I heard Cooper's door open and then I heard him quite clearly say, "YYYYEEEESSSSSS!!!! Morning time!" Although I couldn't see him, I imagined there was a fist pump that probably accompanied it.
It completely stopped my sigh (and me) in it's tracks.
This child, with all the joy and eagerness that his entire four year old being could muster, was looking forward to this dreary Monday morning in a way I could never even begin to imagine. The whole day was ahead of him, and unlike me, who was running through a mental list of should-dos, must-dos, and will-put-offs from the moment my eyes opened, all he saw in front of him was a huge blank slate of... possibility.
I don't know when - if ever - I've greeted a day with that kind of exuberance. I was fretful as a kid, always worrying about things far beyond my scope and reach. As I grew older and the pressures of living in the world grew, too, this just magnified in intensity. There are just so many things to worry about, and so many things that have to be done, and so many responsibilities and so much EVERYTHING that I don't know if I've ever, ever looked at a day like that.
And although not every day is greeted with quite the same verbalized enthusiasm as last Monday morning was, he is the kind of person who knows, just KNOWS, that every day has something amazing to offer. He did not learn this from me. For me, it's too easy to let myself become mired down in the everyday and to forget to really live my life instead of letting my life float by with me as merely a rider, or even worse, a spectator.
I'd love to be able to say that this was a huge turning point for me and we spent the day eating ice cream and flying kites, but the laundry still had to be done, the meals prepared, the errands run.
But the next morning, right before I crawled out of bed into the darkness to start my day of endless lists, housework and must-dos, I whispered quietly to myself, "Yes. Morning time."