saturday morning, kitchen


What do I wake up to? Never the same thing, really. Sometimes it's one of the children, wakeful and playful. Sometimes it's a neighbor, dragging out the trash barrel on pick-up day. Sometimes it's just a sharp blade of sunlight against my face, especially when I've fallen asleep on the couch downstairs. But on the weekends, I always wake up to breakfast, or the task of making it, rather. Which, on mornings like this one, leaves me tired again.

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