24 Hours (the morning II)

7:02 AM

I'm downstairs a scant few minutes before my brother, but that's all I need. Dad has been out the door for two hours and at work for nearly that long. Mom isn't home from work yet ... she gets off at 6:30, though, so this bodes well in terms of her bringing home a breakfast treat. In a few minutes we'll probably hear the garage door go up, then see her walk through the kitchen with one arm carrying her work bag and the other arm carrying a box of fresh donuts. Back then I didn't understand how loving it was to stop on her way home from the night shift; fortunately, I do now.

I scratch my leg absentmindedly as I look out the sliding glass door into the backyard. Why do flannel pajama pants always itch so much after they bunch up around your knees the night before? There's a light dusting of snow on the ground and the sky is a stoney gray. The swings sway with derision at the wind that whips through the closely nestled homes of our neighborhood. I feel warmer for having seen the obviously freezing climate outside ... hopefully Mom will be home soon.

My brother's arrhythmic stair descent distracts me. There's no time to lose. I vault into the bean bag chair just as he comes into sight in the kitchen. I lean forward and click on the Nintendo moments before he can reach the switch himself. He whines as he realizes his defeat, but the rules are clear on the matter and there's little he can do. I smile and, in that effortlessly superior older sibling sort of way, tell him I'll try not to take too long. He harumphs, wraps his dinosaur blanket a little closer, and slumps on the couch next to Dale, his stuffed chipmunk.

It's another half hour and a chair rotation later (I'm on the couch now with my stuffed dinosaur, Tales) before Mom comes in. My brother is doing well in a tough Mario level, so I head over to greet her and say good morning. She walks through the garage door looking more than a little tired, but she smiles big as soon as she sees us. "Good morning, my boys." She drops off the donuts (to which we cheer triumphantly), then makes us promise to be good and get her if we need anything. We tell her we love her and that we'll see her at lunch. Mom takes one last look at us before slowly heading upstairs to catch up on a few hours' sleep. We're proud that our Mom trusts us so much ... we can take care of the house all morning so that she can sleep.

With Mom safely tucked into her warm bed and Dad not due home until dark, my brother and I are in our own little world. The only rules are to keep everything clean, to stay inside, and to not fight. We play video games, build vast spaceships with Legos, construct massive structures with K'nex, watch our favorite cartoons, and ensure that our stuffed animals pursue noble quests in the kitchen. Around noon we'll run in and wake up Mom, but for now, just these few hours each Saturday morning ... it's just us. Jer and Dan. Mom's angel boys.

And that's another perfect hour in the day.

8:00 AM