Posted by: pendrops | December 6, 2006

the breakfast table

toast.jpg

Typically, Jason and I have gone our separate ways by 6am: me to the gym and Jason to the running trails at the park. But after a late night out with friends, we gave ourselves permission to sleep in till 7am. Waking that late moved us outside of our tightly timed routine and, normally, that would throw me off completely. But an extraordinary thing happened this morning; and I welcomed the whimsy.

By 7:10, we found ourselves at the breakfast table, together, hunched over bowls of cereal and pieces of toast, catching whiffs of each other’s morning breath, bed-headed, me with mascara circles under my eyes.

We talked, laughed, asked each other questions about things we don’t usually get around to. Even though we share dinner together at the table almost every night, something was different about this sudden breakfast date: I didn’t plan it.

I meticulously arrange our dinners every night, carefully selecting our meal, plotting out prep time, synchronizing it with Jason’s estimated time of arrival. I pick out the music, set out matching FiestaWare dishes, and even go over the things I want to tell him about my day.

And that, in a nutshell, is my life; planned out, timed to the second, under my control. But this morning, the space between sleep and a busy day opened up to us like a gift. Like a Saturday morning sweetly wrapped in a Wednesday, enchanting because it was a surprise, precious because it wasn’t quite enough time for me to complete any of the items already on my to-do list.

That moment was made for sitting at the breakfast table with my husband to start the day.

Something about that unexpected moment in which we laughed, talked, and listened struck me as Jason headed out the door and I prepared for my day. Without planning it or even anticipating it, we took time to really see each other, even with our hair shooting out every which way, dried goopy-gunk in the corners of our eyes.

The beauty existed in the sleepy spontaneity, the pure un-preciseness. Because I didn’t have a thing to do with making it happen. It was just there, seeing what we would do, hoping that we would enjoy it.

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