Episode 18: The Day Starts

John gets up very early, 5:30, to go to work. He cannot boil an egg but makes himself toast and coffee. On the rare occasion when one of the kids is up that early, he sighs deeply, aggrieved. This is supposed to be his quiet time. His eyes follow you around the kitchen to see what you’re up to. He hates the way we approach cereal, which involves pouring too much cereal into the bowl, and then adding a lot of milk, all the while patting the cereal so it doesn’t overflow.

He props his chin in his hand and says blandly, “Do not pat the cereal,” which, of course, we ignore.

When we roar in from outside and grab the gallon bottle of milk out of the refrigerator to chug from, John offers another platitude, “Milk does not quench the thirst.”

My mother is very hard of hearing especially after a botched operation on one of her ears. John establishes a sweet but dreaded ritual. Every morning before he leaves for work, he sets up a tray for my mother with the Washington Post and her tea. All we have to do is heat and pour the water and carry it upstairs to her.

We fight bitterly over whose turn it is to take the tray up. It’s remarkable how quickly the four of us forget who did it last.

“I did it yesterday,” I say.

“No, it was me!” says everyone else.

Eventually one of us is beaten into submission and groans as they head up the stairs with the tray.

You enter the bedroom, and sure enough, Mom’s still asleep.

Curses! You try the easy way first.

“Mom, I’ve got your tea,” said in a slightly louder than normal voice. It has no effect. You escalate.

“MOM, I’VE GOT YOUR TEA!” you shout. Still isn’t enough to wake her.

Finally, you accept the inevitable. You’ll have to touch her.

You reach out and touch her shoulder, holding the tray with one hand, as you say,” Mo-o-o-m!”

There’s a tremendous shudder and a snarl that is unintelligible, “YOweiiieew,” as she lurches into a sitting position, her long hair wild. You jump back with the tray. There have been disasters before.

She slowly opens her eyes and looks around the room groggily. Finally, they settle on you.

“Uh, is that my tea?” she croaks.