I often wake up before my kids. Sometimes, I get out of bed, come downstairs, sift through accumulated news and email, and type here. At every moment, I’m listening, wondering when either kid — or both — will be fully awake and no longer content to mumble away quietly. They cross the threshold of wakefulness at slightly different times most days, so as I type this, I don’t know whether I have two more minutes or twenty.
I like routines, but the minor uncertainty of this one is probably good for me. Life isn’t under my control, as much I like to believe that is so.