It’s Sunday morning and our mass starts at 10.30am. I lay in my bed thinking about the day ahead and all the different activities I need to organise for it. Get the kids up, make breakfast, get them to church on time. We have a friend who is an old lady and has been through a lot recently. She is very lonely and has asked on numerous occasions for us to visit with the kids. Today would be the perfect day for it and I consider the time scale to achieve this feat. Of course, we have to visit my mum too who is in a nursing home and just as lonely as Margaret.

The sun is positively glowing and a gentle breeze lifts the soft voile netting by the window. Magpies are calling each other outside and other birds are singing sweet melodies. The traffic is a whooshing sound in the distance and my house has the peaceful hum of children sleeping. Once I rise from this bed and begin the day, the noise pollution of the day ensues. Deep breath in and out. A sigh. Stretch my toes and feel the ache of age slowly catching up with me. The cats have heard me and start their relay race up and down the stairs until someone gets up to feed them. Probably me!

My husband awakens with a muttered good-morning and slinks off to the bathroom for his morning hourly visit. What is it with men and staying in there for hours? By the time he comes out, the children are dressed and fed, cats outside playing in the garden and we are ready to start our day. Maybe that’s the secret. Hide in the bathroom each morning and hope the day starts itself! I shall try it sometime soon.

Well, it is now 9.13 am and by my calculations, if I don’t get up soon and sort everyone out, including myself, we will never make it to church. Again! Because I’m laying here pondering what would happen if I just didn’t bother getting up. If I wiggled my toes, silently listening to the birds and the peaceful silence of my house for a little while longer.

9.15! Time to go.


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