Sunday morning

OK, so, here's the drill on Sunday mornings. Miles takes all the kids to church and Mama stays home and enjoys her solitude.

Sounds simple, right? One would think I could sleep in while my husband marshals the troops and takes 'em all off to get right with Jesus. But, naturally, it doesn't work that way.

Miles woke me up and at first, it looked like it was going to be a smooth morning. Miles was dressed in a pressed shirt and the house was quiet. We coordinated the afternoon plans and he went away. Mitzi got up from her nest at the foot of the bed and came to lay on my head and nuzzle my ear.

But alas, such moments of peace are fleeting.....

"Aeron, stop looking at me!" It was not, as one might expect, her twin sister making this complaint. It was Cameron. Who is 12.

I started scratching Mitzi's ears, causing her to purr madly. And since I had one ear in the pillow and she was lying across the other, she made quite an effective white noise machine.

"Aeron! Eat your breakfast and stop looking at me!" Huh. I heard that one through the cat.

Heaving the sigh of the much-put-upon, I moved the cat and climbed out of bed. I'll just tell Cam to knock it off and I'll go back to bed.

"Cameron," I said from the top of the stairs. "Are you listening to yourself?" He mumbled something and I went back to bed. Mitzi joyously came prancing up my chest and began to lick my face.

For about two minutes. The sniping started up again and I again got out of bed. Put my glasses on and marched downstairs. Cameron was seated at the dining room table, wearing earbuds attached to his MP3 player, with some kind of electronic game in front of him, eating a cheeseburger. Claire and Aeron were at the breakfast counter, not eating their bowls of Mama-made granola. Everyone was in their jammies. It was ten minutes before they all needed to leave. Miles was nowhere to be found.

"Claire and Aeron. Eat. There will be no cookies at church if you don't eat your breakfast. Cameron. What are you drinking?"

"Lemonade," sheepishly. Totally against the rules and he knows it.

"Dude. Don't make me have to be the Food Police!" I glared.

Miles poked his head in the back door. "Jen, I'm on the phone. Could you get the girls into some decent clothes for church, please?"

Sigh......

I hustle the little girls upstairs and into their room, with instructions to get out of their jammies and into some clothes. I go back downstairs to get a cup of coffee, only to find none in the pot. What?!?

Miles comes back into the house and I ask, "No coffee?!?"

"That coffee pot is pissing me off!" he replies. I just look at him for a moment, then get out the french press and the coffee grinder.

Aeron yells from her room, "I'm out of underpants!" Miles yells back, "Get a pair from Claire's basket!" "Noooooooo!!!!" wails Claire. Above our heads, an argument breaks out over Tinkerbell undies.

"Dad." says Cameron, coming into the kitchen. "I don't have any clean underwear." Miles covers his eyes with his hands.

The little girls are screeching at each other by this time. "Would you go deal with your daughter?!" Miles asks.

"You go deal with my daughter," I remarked, all righteously indignant. "I'm making coffee."

Miles gives me the stink eye for a moment, herds Cameron out of the kitchen, issues some orders, and then goes upstairs to wade into the fray. As I leisurely grind my dark roast, I hear snatches of the battle above.

"Daddy! I don't wanna wear that!" "You had your chance to get dressed. Now I'm picking your clothes!" "Ow! Daddy! You brushed my ear!" "Those are MY underpants!"

I was stirring in my half-and-half when Miles called out, "To the van! Claire, the van is that-away! Say goodbye to Mama!"

A couple of moist smooches on the cheek, and then all was peaceful again.