A Morning Heart

I love morning time.

I love the early hours when the sun is just beginning to light the day and before all the neighbourhood noises start. I live in a semi-rural neighbourhood so it's always much quieter than directly in town but there is still that early morning silence that I thrive in. And it's the only time I ever feel like I'm home.

For too many years now, I haven't felt like I actually have a real home anymore. The year after I made the mistake of getting married, my mom moved from the house I most loved growing up in to a smaller house in town. My moms move was totally understandable since the house felt too big for just her and my sister. My dad had died only about two years before and my brother had moved out west so I completely get why my mom wanted a smaller home and a smaller yard to deal with; still, when she and my sister moved into their new home (just big enough for two) and I realized I would never have a home to return to if need be... it stung and it still does. I know it sounds ridiculous but I miss getting to 'go home' for visits and I really don't like feeling like a guest visiting my moms house but because it was never my house too, it will always be just that..... my moms house.

At twenty-one I got married and moved into a country house we built ourselves. Enz is an architect/builder who works professionally in structural design and was designer/contractor for each of our house builds and now also for our on-going cabin build. Enz, his dad and I did all of the work on our first and second houses and even though I helped and was involved with every aspect of the actual building process, I still never felt like I could ever be truly at home in them. Enz likes and expects perfection. The house was meant to stay brand new and pristine which meant that living was difficult... no touching the walls, no accidentally bumping into the walls with anything that could mark or ding them, no dropping things because the tiles might suffer a scratch, no accidentally closing doors too hard, no opening doors too wide, no fingerprints on light switches, no dragging chairs (lift and place), no touching the television/stereo remotes without them being covered in plastic to avoid dirtying them..... and the list went on and on and on. Kind of hard to feel like it's okay to live in a space where mishaps of living are just not allowed or forgiven and completely opposite of the real home in which I grew up. The rules have softened for our boys (Greyhounds Play and Day) which I am grateful for. The boys are allowed to play wildly, flinging toys around which sometimes breaks decorational pieces and they are allowed to run and jump all over the leather furniture even if they leave scratches because he wants for them both to be happy, have fun and know they are loved. How thankful I am that the boys are allowed to fully live and thrive in their home because nothing lifts my heart like watching them enjoy being alive and adored!

Living with the uptight stipulations over the past almost twenty-two years has changed me, and not for the better. I forget what it means to feel like it's okay for me to try and fail at something or that it's okay to make a mistake or that it's okay to accidentally drop something and not have to worry that a noticeable mark might be left behind. I don't know that I could ever feel at ease and just say 'oh well' even if I do find myself in a worry-free-allowed-to-live space of my own someday.

But this is when I do feel at home. In the early morning hours. Enz leaves for work at six-thirty every morning so I am usually here, set up in my morning spot, by quarter-to-seven. I'm technically not allowed to have anything set atop the table quilt and am supposed to either fold it back or place a protective cover between but in the mornings I go rogue..... I figure since I made the table quilt and I know it's washable, I can enjoy it and touch it without too much fear of being found out. I make my morning cup of coffee and carefully carry it over to the dining table then just sit quietly with a crossword puzzle to help give my mind a jump-start with words for the day. Once I finish my coffee, I switch from crossword to notebook and try to make sense of what I feel I need to get down on paper. I love writing and for some reason always have this sort of movie screen running through my mind that I simply need to document, even if it's only in point form because I just can't keep up with it all. I feel better about everything once I've let myself do a little writing but we'll keep that just between us, too... just like my using the table quilt without a 'buffer zone'. Reading and writing is not something that's tolerated as more than a complete waste of time in this house; if it doesn't create a tangible, useful product that makes lots of money, it is considered useless here. So I write and then I shred. That way I get to do what I need without it being known that I wasted any time doing the only thing I really love to do, well next to sports which is still just unfortunately out of the question for me right now.


Heavenly Mornings.....

























Later on, I move into the kitchen to have my actual breakfast, usually a piece of fruit but sometimes my favourite treat of steel-cut oatmeal instead.

NO PLACEMAT... I wasn't kidding when I said I go rogue!

Morning time just seems to know how to make everything feel better and more secure for me and they are the hours that I cherish. The only thing that could make my mornings better is if my boys would get out of bed and share them with me but they much prefer to spend their mornings in Dreamland... and whatever makes them happy, also makes me happy!

Day in Dreamland

Play in Dreamland