True's Morning

True's mornings, as has been noted earlier, begin somewhat more slowly than Sky's. The initial calls for him to get up rarely seem to penetrate his sleep. He lies buried beneath a jumble of covers like a woodland animal covered with leaves.

The first signal that he is awake often comes from his small hand, slipped between the guard rails of his bunk and flapping limply for attention.

Of course, what parent could resist that. When he feels a hand take his, he pulls it in close to his cheek and snuggles up for a few more seconds of sleep.

After the parental hand is eventually withdrawn and encouragements to get up grow sterner, he stretches, not to be rushed. If I try to hurry him, he inevitably shoots back, "I'm just STRETCHING, Dad!"

The object is to get him onto his knees, but it is difficult to keep him upright long enough to get him down from bed.

Finally - the process sometimes takes an excruciating minute or two - he prepares to descend.

Slowly.

Step by step.

Until he is standing and ready for the ritual eye rub.

Then he makes his way, red blanket in hand, to the bathroom.


By the time he is back and getting dressed (Anna lays out his clothes when she first comes in to open his shutters) shouts from the kitchen are bidding him to hurry lest he miss breakfast or the bus.

He never misses either.