Wake up at 9, stumble to the bathroom with bleary eyes and do my business, then stumble back to bed for another hour.
Wake up at 10, all snuggled up with our soft sheets and the down comforter that is almost always too hot but I insist on using year-round anyhow. I'm very warm, and I'm in a great mood. Throw my warm front over Jimi's cold back - the blankets are down around his waist, because they're almost always too hot for him - and just lie there for a minute, feeling the temperature differences and listening to that man I love as he sleeps through my attack. He must've been really tired last night.
Roll over and scoot my back right up next to his, make sure the covers are straight and the bottom sheet is covered by the duvet, and call the dog up onto the bed. Finn's always willing to snuggle, even if he is still mostly asleep and has to go through the whole stretch-and-wake-up routine before he hops up into the spot I'm patting; he lays the length of his body along the length of mine.
Oh! Here comes Q the Cat; he wants in on this morning petting action. He sidles up next to Finn; not quite touching, their friendship isn't there unless we humans aren't around, but friendly enough that there's only a space of a couple inches between them. Finn smells the cat's face, the cat sniffs Finn's nose and inclines his head, indicating he'd like Finn to rub his ears now, please. I reach over and take care of the scratching Finn can't and Finn licks my face.
A few minutes of this - 5, 10. Usually Jimi will wake up and join our little morning hello, making up silly songs or telling the fur kids what sort of things our day will bring. He stays asleep this morning, though, so when I start to feel restless I tell the boys to hop down, throw back the covers, and my day has begun.
As soon as my feet hit the floor, the cat starts telling me that he's starving and NEEDS his breakfast NOW. Yeah yeah yeah. I let Finn out the back door - I can let him into our fenced back yard without having to worry about any neighbors noticing I'm naked when I open the doorway. If he goes out front, I have to put on something to cover; I'm really happy we've got that fence in the back yard.
Back across the kitchen and dining room, down into the basement, Q two stairs ahead of me, turning back to check on me as he hops down every other step, making sure I'm following him to the food bowl. He's very happy to have his kitty kibbles back; he hops up onto the old dryer that doesn't work and watches me intently as I reach the scoop into the bin that holds the food. Some mornings he'll headbutt me as I bend down to scoop; he's always purring loudly with anticipation, and more than once I've been dripped on as he drools into the food bucket. The cat likes to eat.
I grab a pair of house pants and a house shirt - that's how my clothes are distinguished; either they're house clothes, or they're outside clothes. House clothes are generally pants with elastic waistbands and shirts that are either A) from high school, and therefore so threadbare they're nearly see-through; B) have a flaw of some sort (stain, hole) rendering it unsightly in public but it's too comfortable to throw away; or C) too tight but I swear it'll fit one day so meanwhile I'll just wear it around the house.
As I go back up the stairs, I realize it's Sunday and we've got to work tomorrow and most of our clothes are lying in our bedroom floor. (Hamper? What hamper? Who needs a hamper?) I go back downstairs and grab an empty laundry basket. Back upstairs, I fill it to 150% capacity with all of the things we've worn since last Sunday and then it's back to the basement. I sort the clothes into piles - pants, reds, whites, delicates, everything else. Open the washer to start the first load - OH, hello whites that got left in there for a few days! (When did Jimi wash these? It had to have been Wednesday or Thursday. Yay!) Turn the water on, add detergent (homemade detergent, by the way), close the lid, shrug shoulders.
I woke up thinking fried apples sounded really good for breakfast. Fried apples bring back happy memories from childhood involving Sunday morning biscuits and gravy breakfasts while watching Star Trek with Daddy, and Granny standing over her stove with her big cast iron skillet full of the fragrant fruit mixed with butter and cinnamon and brown sugar, turning crisp into melty sweetness. I got out a bowl in which i could drop the fruit as it was cut...eh, so many apples to cut up. Hmm...
Oh! We're supposed to have people for dinner. I need to figure out a meal. I open the freezer and there sits the big bag of frozen chicken noodle soup, just begging me to thaw it and heat it in the crock pot. The dinner is done, man.
Now, about those apples...there's a lot of sugar in fried apples and I don't have any canned biscuits and I certainly don't want to make any biscuits this morning...maybe we can have some sort of apple dessert tonight. I break out the Bisquick cookbook (I have other ones, I swear, but I was after a simple easy fix here, and Bisquick is where it's at.) A few page flips and I've found a recipe for french apple pie; I've made it before and it's tasty, and it calls for one of my favorite things in the world, streusel topping. And it will allow me to put off cutting up those apples for at least another 6 hours.
I'm on book eight of the Sookie Stackhouse series. I decide coffee is what I need, that it would be perfect with the book and a smoke this morning. We don't own a coffee pot. Is that weird? I've not had a coffee pot of my own since I moved from El Paso to Louisville, leaving the $100 Bunn behind for the ex. I should've peed in it. Current setup is sweeter, though - we've got a couple of French Press pots. You boil your water (I didn't leave my tea kettle behind for the ex, because I'm not a complete fool), add your grounds to the press pot, then pour in the boiling water. The lid of the pot has a fine mesh screen, and when you press the plunger, all the coffee grounds are held in the bottom of the pot while you're left with rich delicious coffee. I filled the bottom third of my mug with Chai Latte creamer, then top off with coffee, and my morning was ready to begin.
And then I blogged about it.
Just your typical Sunday morning. I love my life. Every boring little detail.
Even while I'm typing this I'm thinking how lame this sounds but it seriously is some of the simplest things that make me the happiest.ReplyDelete
It sounds like a perfectly fabulous morning.ReplyDelete