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Morning Routine

The knocking of footsteps and clinking noises come from outside the bedroom door. My eyes are still shut as I lie in bed hoping that he hasn’t heard the clamours of the household awaking. As I open my eyes and slowly wake the streaming sun hits my face through a tiny break between the curtains. I pull myself out of bed and tip-toe with every tad of silence. Its 6:55 a.m. As I open the bedroom windows to let in the crisp breath of fresh air I hear a soft yawn and notice a miniature foot wiggle its way out of the blanket. Instants later the shudder of something hitting against the wood of the rattling cot barrier attracts my attention. I know that noise, it sounds familiar to me. Some would call it my wake up call. It’s my son. Israel.

He tumbles over the ruffled covers in his cot as he comes to his feet. It’s as if he’s had a spoon full of sugar by the amount of energy he expresses. “Daaaaaaaah” he calls, hoping someone will come to his attention. I call back “no, Mum” and he jiggles the barriers of his cot enthusiastically with excitement. A big bright expression on his face appears. I hastily walk over to his side. He throws his petite arms towards me opening and closing his tiny fingers as if he’s trying to catch me. “Yay son you’re awake now” I say as he clings on to my arms while I rescue him from his cot.

It sounds as if a baby elephant is pounding its way toward us. It’s Brooklyn. Israel’s big sister. She runs in to the room aware that we have eventually woken up. She must have heard the racket her brother had been making over the sounds of her exhilarating cartoons on the TV. “Mum, brother you’re awake now!” she yells. Her voice is filled with glee. “I’m so

hungry Mum!”

I sigh and tell myself the weekend’s only around the corner. It’s the only time I get to have those well-deserved sleep-ins that are ever so luxurious and not wake up to any little monkeys, because it’s my partner’s morning duties then.

I place Israel down so that I can start making breakfast. ‘Clink’ goes the jug switch as I turn it on. He waddles like a darling baby penguin as he makes his way to the jungle filled with musical instruments or what we call a kitchen.

Brooklyn dances over to find a seat at the table and asks for her usual. “Mum can I have rice bubbles?” she stammers. Forgetting that she has forgotten the magic word she adds “Oh I mean please”. Her brother stands patiently in the same spot of the kitchen, frowning as he waits for his cereal to be taken out of the cupboard. Suddenly it appears before his eyes. “That” he says as he swiftly points towards the bright blue and red box of Weet-Bix. The noise of the carton rustles as I place two into Israel’s leafy green bowl. Tiny bits of rice bubbles make their appearance as I pour the hollow crunchy crisps into Brooklyn’s appealing pink bowl decorated with Disney princesses. The whirling noise and click of the jug sound over the noise in the room. In goes the steaming hot water to soften the wholegrain goodness of the Weet-Bix. Milk is also poured and blended in for both cereals. “Hold on Mum,” Brooklyn insists as she marches towards me holding the sugar bowl. “Just a little, aye.”

I slowly bring their bowls to the table and Brooklyn says a gracious little prayer. She closes her eyes and her lashes flutter subtly as she tries her best not to open them. “Thank you Jesus for my Mum and my Dad and my brother and my Nana and my Papa. Amen”. The tiny creases in her nose wrinkle with a sparkling confident smile as the satisfaction in her face glows cheerfully. I pop Israel in his high chair and he opens his eyes as wide as his hungry little mouth yelping “mama ma”. While kicking his feet vigorously once again he waits to devour a spoonful of breakfast.

Just another day, just another morning routine.



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