They turn on PBS Kids with the TV at its lowest volume. The older one at least understands that grown-ups prefer sleeping in on the weekends.

They’re gentlest with each other first thing in the morning, wedging their little bodies onto the same couch cushion underneath a shared blankie.

I hear them making little noises and scoot down under the comforter in response, wondering how many more minutes I can get away with before one of them appears at my bedside with some urgent need. 

After a bit, the still-sleepy snuggles and whispers turn into giggles, which quickly escalate into shrieks and the occasional scream or wail: “You’re pulling my hair! That’s my blankie!” It’s time for at least one of us to be a responsible adult and go make sure no one is injured (no one is).

They don’t see me stepping into the room and taking in the scene. Morning light peeks through the blinds. Two blonde bed-heads: One’s hair a riot of curls and the other mostly falling in her face. Mismatched jammies. Bare feet poking out from under the blanket. Ev has already poured Daisy a sippy cup of milk, which she’s clutching to herself.

I slip into the kitchen unnoticed. They’re immersed in Daniel Tiger, which means Ev has either 1) decided to graciously give her little sister first pick out of kindness or 2) decided she didn’t have the energy to do battle with a stubborn 3-year-old just yet. (I get that.)

She knows how to turn the coffeemaker on, too, and has already taken the liberty of doing so—a quiet helper. The best kind. I hear it popping and gurgling to life. When it roars, we know it’s almost ready.

I choose a mug for Dan and a favorite for myself. Truth be told, they’re all my favorite. I love coffee mugs. I press the lever and coffee pours in, steam rising. I smile, remembering Daisy’s bedtime prayer the night before, which included a meaningful addition at the end: “and thank you Lord for coffee.”

I sneak back through the living room with a mug in each hand and the hope of maybe climbing back into bed for a minute, but it’s not happening today. I’ve been spotted. The charm is broken as pressing requests for hugs and more importantly, breakfast, ensue.

They are, of course, starving. It’s Saturday at 7:45 a.m.

This post is part of a series called 31 days of paying attention, a month-long mission to document and give thanks for the everyday, mundane, and beautiful.

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