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Sounds of Saturday morning

I awoke to a gradual crescendo of sound this morning. That is a rare occurrence for me, a gentle and easy rise from a night's slumber. Normally it's the alarm clock, the phone ringing, one of the kids, or the television. There was plenty of activity in the early hours this morning, but it built up slowly, giving me a rather peaceful start to the day for a change.

I was awake at 7:30 to the first peeks of the day's light, almost a month into autumn. The house was absolutely quiet and I had no reason to immediately get out of bed, so I stayed where I was to relish the still and the vanishing dark. After a few minutes I heard the whir of the furnace downstairs, its first startup of the season. It's a bit finicky after being off for months at a time, a problem of magnetic resistance overcome by one manual turn of the blower — a human reminder, "Here's what you're supposed to do." No amount of lubrication or repair will fix it according to the last HVAC tech we had in the house. So at the start of each heating season, I just listen for the proper progression of sounds and events and intervene as necessary. No intervention this year — everything worked as it should, allowing me to lay in bed even longer.

Charlie the cat — more attentive to the world of sound than I could ever dream — decided I was awake, which meant it was his breakfast time. One thing I've learned about cats over the years is you don't mess with breakfast. He started purring in anticipation and jumped up in bed with me, a subtle reminder that the time was upon us once again. He knows I sometimes lag in bed, and if he thinks it's taking too long, his reminders grow more insistent. This time, he didn't seem bothered (yet) and just stepped onto the nightstand to peek out the window before jumping back to the floor again.

By now the light was growing, and I knew my peace would soon come to an end. Andrew's stirring in his bedroom confirmed my suspicions. He ran out to the hallway (nothing about that kid is slow), flipped on the bathroom light and took care of the usual morning business. I listened to see if he was just up to relieve himself or up for the day. He turned the bathroom light off and I heard nothing, meaning he was standing in the hall deciding what to do next. Then, tentative footsteps toward our bedroom, which became padded as he crossed the threshold and hit our carpeted floor instead of the hall's hardwood. Then silence again.

I try to keep our bedroom a grown-up place as much as possible, and he knows this. At the same time, he is four and constantly testing boundaries. And I knew he was doing this now, standing in our bedroom, watching us sleep and waiting to see what happened.

Time to be Dad.

I sat up in bed and gave him The Look. And everyone knows what The Look is, whether you've been on the giving or the receiving end, and exactly what it means if you're on the receiving end. Andrew knows too, and he immediately darted out of the room, but I could tell he hadn't gone too far and would probably make another attempt soon.

A few minutes slipped by and the cat decided to kick things up a notch by knocking over the wastebasket in our bedroom. Andrew continued to pad around in the hall and also kicked things up a notch by running his hand up and down the vent grate just outside our bedroom. At this point, I knew any thoughts I dared have of drifting back to sleep were in error.

Charlie decided enough was enough and started sharpening his claws on the corner of the bed, which brought Martha into action, swatting him away. And just so everyone knows, the next step would have had the cat up in the bed again, biting me until I got up. But it never got that far.

Katie came out of her room in a huff, stomping about, every footstep firm and decisive, Andrew following. I listened for the inevitable scuffle of their interaction as they determined, once again, that despite what traditional gender roles might dictate, Katie was indeed the alpha dog and always would be. This argument resolved itself without requiring my intervention, and I listened as two sets of footsteps crossed into our bedroom along with a meowing cat. Then an odd, unexpected, and complete silence.

I sat up and found all three of these goofs just inside the bedroom, all staring intently at me. Time to be Dad again.

"WHAT!" I barked. And the children scattered, Andrew laughing as he exited. Realizing the cat was still hanging around, I added, "Katie, please feed the cat!" And when Charlie heard the rattling and clanking of dish, spoon, and can, he trotted off to the kitchen.

Ah, bliss.

Posted October 17, 2009 @ 23:11:34 EDT. 0 comments.

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