Saturday, August 20, 2011

Saturday Morning Emo - As Written By My Dogs.

Daddy ties his workboots.  We smell the coffee that he's made for himself and Mommy.  She smells it, too...because she clomps and cracks her way down the stairs, smiling at him.  Oh, wait a second.  Put your biscuits away, guys.  He's meeting her at the bottom, which nullifies the 10:1 odds of her walking into something.  You'll have to place your bets tomorrow.  He gives her a hug and kisses her on top of her head.  She forces a smile and looks away from him.

She makes her way to the food room in search of a cookie.  Great.  She's too emo to lift a frying pan onto the stove and make herself a real breakfast.  She's already missing him and he hasn't left yet.  There's no sense in us setting up a begging perimeter and subsequently staring her down, because there will be no eggs.

He takes a moment to notice and says, "all you're having is a cookie?  Really?" to which she responds, in her 'talk show guest' fashion..."and?"

Silly Daddy, he never realizes that she misses him when he goes to work on the weekends.  Nor that we are left picking up the pieces until the little people wake up.  Something about them forces her to get over herself.  Why must you sleep late, little people?  Why???

He coasts down the road in his noisy truck.  Mommy once told us he doesn't have something called "mufflers".  Unless we can eat them, we really couldn't care less.  We just enjoy the ability to hear him prior to actually seeing him.

Mommy goes to the box of light and makes a face.  As a mechanism of support for her, we all attempt to make the same face.  Except for Fred, who sleeps.  Mommy asks us what's wrong and proceeds to answer for us.  Obviously, her question was rhetorical.  She informs us that we should not be sad, that Daddy will be home in about 9hrs and 20mins.  We wish we could make her understand that we have no concept of time.  Every minute is a full 24hrs to us.  See you tomorrow, Daddy...

She takes pictures of us in what she refers to as "our sadness".   

She says she tells herself that, "all of this is just for a season", and that she feels guilty for these moments of sadness.  We are confused.  She wipes her eyes and blows her nose...thankfully, in that order.  She says she knows what a blessing it is to have 1 job, much less several, and that she thanks God for His provisions and for Daddy's willingness.  Because someday, they'll get through 'this' and will have appreciated the journey.  Blessings in trials, or raindrops, whichever.  We remain confused, but are seriously trying to be supportive.  All we can focus on is the fact that she couldn't scramble a few eggs.  The eggs are in the cold box.  We saw them.  We aren't getting any younger, here.

One of us has to end this and start up the howling brigade.  Howling wakes the little people, little people make Mommy smile, and...hey wait a second...little people make Mommy get frying pans out!  What hath taken us so long to recall this essential detail???

Commence howling in 3...2...

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