Summer Mornings

Our year divides into two parts.

There is the school year, when I am up at 5:30, and out of the house long before Master gets ready to leave. On those mornings, I make our breakfast, and I pack His lunch, and I hug Him and head out the door. Because His schedule is more flexible than mine, He most often doesn't have to be ready to leave until the middle of the morning. Once I am on the way, He is really pretty much on His own. Neither of us likes that part of our schedule, although there are a variety of pluses and benefits to my teaching career, and so we adjust.

Summertime is entirely a different matter. In the summer, His schedule is my schedule. Whatever His day involves, or requires, mine revolves around helping Him to be ready to go, and supporting His easy and calm launch out into the world. We usually are able to sleep later in the summer -- oh joy! When we get up, I generally fix His breakfast, and we chat about whatever each of us finds online or in email, or we talk over the reports on the morning news shows. Then I bring His razor, and toothbrush, and mirror, and He begins the process of getting ready to go. When He heads off to the shower, I start to assemble His clothes for the day. I put out the trousers and shirt that He requests, press anything that seems to need it, set out His shoes, make sure His sports coat is ready to go. Usually, I go through His extensive collection of ties, and pick out ones that I think might work for whatever He's wearing that day. I round up His keys and cell phone and knives and sunglasses. I fix His lunch, and pack up His computer. I schlepp everything to His car and get it loaded up for Him. Most days, unless it is raining, I open up the windows on His car so that it cools off before He needs to get in it.

By then, He's usually out of the shower, and so I help Him get dressed, handing Him whatever is needed next, and fetching anything that He might need. My big accomplishment this summer is that I've finally managed to figure out which way to thread His belt through His belt loops -- something my dyslexic brain simply would not grasp for years. When He's all dressed and ready to go, I braid His hair, refill His drink bottles, and walk Him out to the car. I stand on the driveway and wave Him on the way, blowing kisses.

Then I go back inside to tidy up, put away the ties He didn't choose to wear, and have a bit of breakfast myself. The "undefined" part of my schedule begins at that point, and continues until He comes home again. It is the time I spend writing, working on projects, preparing for next school year, shopping, doing laundry, etc.

swan