I hear the faint sound of morning peeking into our bedroom window. I know the golden coins of sunshine will hit the pavement soon. First, there is the stray car, a honk of the horn, and the crunch of the gravel as an early someone walks their dog on the street. Sinking into my sheets, I hear the deep sigh from my daughter, one that indicates dreams of playing in the sand, talking loudly with her friends, and running from one place to another.
Thirty minutes later, the morning turns into a beginning. It starts everyday. In the same way. A fresh greeting from my daughter,
“Good Morning. Is it time to get up?” She asks the question, but does not wait for my answer. Her feet are shuffling toward the restroom as she rushes to the restroom. Flushing the toilet with purpose, she walks back toward me and announces that she is hungry for breakfast. I tell her something I’ve said a thousand times, “In a minute. Not just yet.” I don’t think she is listening because she is already downstairs.
There’s not many seconds for me. I try to grab a few in the morning. A few click-clicks on the computer, knowing sometimes I am looking and listening to noise, but unable to help myself. Ambling into the restroom, the water breathes relief on my face. The lingering smell of soap leftover when my daughter washed her hands. In the background, there is the sound of television, Mickey Mouse telling me, yes, yes, it is morning and time to start my day.
My husband heads to the shower, there is a whoosh from the air-conditioner, and a creak from the stairs as it begins as it has for so many years. I open the blinds. They clap in succession. Pulling a bowl from the cupboard, the cereal hits a little too fast, clanking the spoon from its balance. There are a few slurps of milk from my daughter, while my coffee drips, sucking itself into the white and black mug. It’s hot and I let it cool while I empty the dishwasher.
Do you hear it? This is the sounds of an ordinary morning routine. I am not certain what the day will bring. Maybe a friend announcing she’s pregnant or another confessing she is suffering from depression. Someone may cut me off in traffic. Or my daughter will be eager to show me an art project she made at school. I may write that perfect paragraph in my memoir. The phone will ring from the telemarketer.
As it begins, I cling to these sounds. I listen closely. What do I hear?
Comfort.
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This piece is part of Momalom’s Five for Five Series. This is my response to the prompt listening.
Image by Jeffery Turner
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
My morning routine is jarring, loud and obnoxious. But also sounds of comfort for me. I so get this. Just wish my girls knew how to tone it down a little…
But soon enough eh? 🙂
The symphony of morning. Something we too often take for granted. I won’t anymore. Not after reading this. Thank you.
I’m glad you can see the noise of your mornings in a positive light–our mornings sound like we’ve got the entire team of the Green Bay Packers in the house. Chaos!
Thanks for this (as always, your posts remind us of the things in life we should be grateful for); I’m usually on the annoyed side in the mornings but it is true that the steadiness and predictability provide comfort and security. Only recently did I begin to appreciate my immigrant father’s desperate need for routine; since moving to America 40 years ago, he’s had the same breakfast every single morning. I used to laugh but now I understand.
I hate waking up early during the week, but I love that I can depend on the coffee to be hot and ready, that I’ll receive an early morning hug from Javi, and that I’ll go in and gently rub Bella’s back until she wakes up. Those early weekday mornings, when I’m bitterly tired, are amazing. Comfort indeed.
I wish my mornings were as calm and soothing as yours sounds. Weekdays are battles. Saturdays are slower and Sundays are a toss up. I’d give anything for calm and soothing.
And I can just hear it, too. It sounds very comforting, stable, beautiful. :o)
The sound of comfort, a lovely write Rudri. 🙂
You remind me of the trail my mom would leave, dressed for work, the click of her heels on the hard wood floor and the wisps of perfume she’d eave behind.
I like how you painted a picture of your day through sound, especially the cereal hitting the bowl.
Sounds like the perfect day to me too. It’s how I look at weekends where my family gets to slow down (for the most part) and enjoy each other without the distraction of rushing off to work, to that next appointment, to that next whatever.
Its amazing, isn’t it? The little ordinary things that surprise us the same way every single time…
This is interesting… many times we have our hands full and we hardly give attention to the things around us. perhaps things would be a lot different if we just learned to pause and to listen.
I hear it! Lovely, Rudri. And as I type these very words, my daughter has just woken up. “Mooo-oooom!” And I must go!
My mornings may be rushed, but they do bring comfort. When we’re all rushing about it means that all is well; when even one things changes it is jarring and takes the comfort right out of my day.
I’m not a morning person, but is there a sense of comfort in a new day and the routine that begins again.
No matter what time of day our mornings start, the routine of life makes it all worthwhile. Your depiction makes us appreciate that routine even more.
I also find comfort in routine and often expect the next thing before it occurs and then wallow in the comfort I feel when it arrives.
Perhaps the softly imagined arms or our collective heart sweep it all into an embrace unified by love. Tap, tap, tap: I hear the conductor’s baton sharp against the edge of another day rising from the caesura of night.