O. Monday. G.


Janie woke me up this morning by shaking my shoulder. “Mom?” she whispered. “Mom?”

I rolled over, pried open an eye, and saw from the hallway light  that she was fully dressed, including coat, earmuffs, and backpack.

“Oh no, am I that late?!”  I grabbed my bedside clock, knocking over the Leaning Tower of Read.

Four forty-five.

Thank God.  Fifteen more minutes before I had to get up.

I set down the clock and closed my eyes, willing my heart to slow down.

“Mom?”  Shake, shake.  “Mom?”

My husband grumbled and stuck his head under the pillow.

“Honey?” I mumbed.  “Why are you up so early?”

“Can we go to Dunkin Donuts?”


“Yes.  I’m ready. I even brushed my teeth.  You said if I got ready early, we could go.

“Um . . . gimme a minute . . .”

And that was pretty much the whole day—off balance and trying to catch up.  It was one of those days where I’d finish one thing, or half of one thing, and two more things would show up needing to be done.  Or re-done.

Good things happened*—but I couldn’t stop to savor them, or reply to half of them.

So I think I’ll stop now.

Forgive the short post—I’ll see you tomorrow.


*I received excellent advice—and quite a few corrections—-for a scene of Pigeon that worried me,  a specialist at the University of Chicago agreed to talk to me about sickle cell anemia, and my friend Grace is setting up a “Hollywood Hype” Book Club—read the book, watch the movie, compare and complain.

12 thoughts on “O. Monday. G.

  1. Sarah, my friend, we’re living the same life at times. My kids slept in all last week, their dad waking them up each day at 7:15am, a time at which I was almost already downtown for work.

    Saturday rolls around and at 5:45am, my oldest son comes in to ask me to come downstairs and watch cartoons. My youngest was nestled between my husband and I, and I had no recollection of him coming into our bed. No rest for the weary. Or is it wicked…

    • Weary and wicked, I think.

      I woke up to our youngest snoring in my ear around 2am this morning—but she was warm and I didn’t want to get up. She’s still there—I, clearly, am not.

      And Janie just wandered in and told me she couldn’t sleep (it’s about ten ’til six) apparently it’s my duty to entertain her until she has to get ready for school.

  2. Are you as positive a person in real life as your posts assume? No matter what the insanity, you always seem to keep one eye out for positivity. I could use a dose of that.

    • It’s all mirrors and emoticons, MSB. 🙂 (<—-See?)

      (seriously, I often have to step back and take deep breaths after the fact to see the bright side—or at least find the funny—and sometimes I can't see it or don't want to bother. And sometimes it's sheer straw-clutching. But remembering to want has helped)

  3. I think you need to focus on how driven your little girl is. This is quite fantastic. If she exhibits this kind of dedication for a morning trip to Dunkin Donuts, just imagine what she’ll accomplish when she’s a little older. Actually, it’s almost frightening. But good luck. (Did you at least get a donut for your troubles?)

    • She is single-minded at times! If only her homework received that kind of attention.

      (I had a bagel with cream cheese—I wanted a doughnut, but feared the sugar crash!)

  4. The power of the donut. When I went back to Canada to see my parents in October, my son asked me to bring him back . . . a donut! (Tim Hortons) Which I did.

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