I finally give up on getting a few extra minutes of sleep and sit up. It’s 7:06 and quiet. But the light in the living room is on, so I’m not the first one up. Are the boys reading quietly on the couch? I wonder. Manchild comes in at that moment, as if he’s heard my thought. He’s fully dressed and clearly having a good day.
“Look at you!” I say, “All dressed and everything. You wore that shirt yesterday, but I’m okay with that.” He looks so tall and skinny to me all of a sudden. So old. It’s probably the shirt, which is too big for him. All his shirts seem too big for him these days.
“Yeah, I got everything ready and finished at exactly seven o’clock!” he says, and looks at the clock. “Seven minutes ago!”
“Alright, well let’s go see it!” I say as I slide off the bed and follow him out to the living room.
Sure enough, there are plates for everyone on the table. Cups for the boys’ juice, along with the bottle of juice itself. Forks set next to the plates. And next to every plate are the appropriate vitamins: a Flintstones multivitamin with iron for each of the boys, a multi for Micah as well, and next to my plate are two probiotics, an iron, and a prenatal.
There are even two extra plates on the table, one for the scrambled eggs and one for the toast, which is what breakfast is every other day, on the days we don’t have granola. And Manchild is very good at keeping track of which day is which.
He’s still jumping up and down with excitement at his accomplishment as I turn toward the kitchen, where I see that he’s pulled the toaster out of the cupboard and plugged it in. Next to it sits the bowl Micah always uses to scramble the eggs before he cooks them. There is a fork ready to do the scrambling as well.
“Wow, Buddy, you really did get it all ready!” I say as I pull the bread off the shelf and reach for a knife to cut it with.
He makes my life so easy. I really could, as a friend suggested, have ten more just like him.
(But I won’t.)