When the alarm clock goes off at seven, i wake up and wearily find my way to the kids room. Exhausted from the late Sunday evening, they hardly wake up when i pick them up and put them in our bed. Weaving in and out of their dreams, instinctively clutching their worn out plush toys, they lay next to me, one on each side. Turning every now and then, catching the last few quiet minutes, still caught in the pretend world of their fairylands. Their little hands rest in mine, warm and defenseless. Half smiling at whatever figments are passing before their eyes, unaware of the sublime beauty of the moment. No fighting over the same toys, no precarious jumping on the sofas, no danger of splashing watercolors on the carpet.

With every minute that passes i know that we’re going to be late to daycare and i’ll get stuck in traffic on the way to work. Somehow it all does not matter. In a few years these moments will be no more. It all seems so far away now, but it is inevitable. And so i lay there, listening to the soft breathing of two small pieces of me, one on each side. It costs nothing and is worth everything.

These are my Monday mornings.