In the morning, if I am lucky enough to be awake before Paris, I take a moment to look around the living room.
(Sidenote: every morning I am lucky enough to be awake before 'Salina, because 'Salina is now officially a teenager and therefore is relishing the sleep in far too much to enter the race.)
I take immense joy in the cleared floor. I look to the lounge and only see tousled cushions. The books are stacked neatly. Ah, coupled with the peace of that first cup of tea with the sun glinting off the windows and slight breeze, this is the recipe for perfect mornings...
In the morning, if I am lucky enough to have Paris awaken me with a dulcet "good morning", I get her dressed and allow her to peruse the delights offered by the library DVD selection du'week and I take a cup of tea to wake up and try to get my eyes and mind to catch up to hers.
In the morning, sometimes 'Salina saunters out decked in uniform complete with the hairstyle of the day and a smile.
In the morning, if Paris thinks she is awake before she really is, I can tell off the bat because the tinkle in her "good morning" appears to have broken, and the getting dressed can call for several time outs and a threat of being sent back to bed. The tea needs a coffee chaser before I can even look toward the lounge, generally trashed with a trail of Paris debris.
In the morning, occasionally I need to regard the clock and gird myself to knock on 'Salina's door to check on status. Their is generally an echo from a person half my height but with less than half of my tact and diplomacy screeching "you 'wake, 'Salina!!!!?"
In the mornings, the big daughter and I used to go for walks and got fit and more often than not attempts to bond were made with sporadic success (and spectacular failures). That doesn't happen any more.
However - there are times when the little daughter says "Mum, in the morning" and requests such a pleasure...
In the mornings, there is so much potential on offer. Perhaps this is the recipe for perfect mornings.