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  • There was a time when mornings were about watching Small Wonder on the television while eating Honey Nut Cheerios with a little bit of sugar poured on top. I would watch the show, and with my spoon, scrape sugar clumps out of the milk, and press the granules into my bottom lip until they dissolved. Those mornings were about stacking my jelly bracelets, tightening my pigtails, mismatching my converse, and riding carpool with Alice and Jordan to my hippie school.
  • There was a time when mornings were about negotiating the different ways I spent my nights. Sometimes, I would stay up most of the night making home movies with my cousin Kristin where we’d write poetry and perform songs. Those were the nights I’d eat fried onions and ketchup while watching I Love Lucy with my Dad, and then I'd scrawl the names of my crushes all over his walls. Nights were the rule less, creative, underbelly. But, mornings were about being tired, putting on my big black hat, and waiting for my mom to pick me up and help me navigate the day.
  • There was a time when mornings were about my bedroom door opening and my mom asking me how she looked before she went to work. She'd brush her hair in my mirror and then ask me how I was doing. I was sleeping, so I didn’t know how I was doing yet, and I could barely open my eyes enough to know if her blazer matched her scarf, or if her pumps were too much for her job at the local courthouse. She always looked beautiful, even though this ritual baffled me.
  • There was a time when mornings were about savoring a snowstorm under a down comforter, and hiding from that double knock that meant it was time to shovel. I'd shovel our driveway, the stone path, and maybe a little bit of our elderly neighbor Jon’s driveway, if he wasn’t being too stubborn about doing it on his own.
  • There was a time when mornings were about that moment of shyly looking into the eyes of a boy I’d spent the entire night with in the dark, playfully and curiously, exploring each others bodies in a single red sleeping bag.
  • There was a time when mornings were about journaling into my Dictaphone, in my purple sponge painted room, while looking up at the green and pink neon stars and moons above my bed.
  • Mornings now, are about swapping dreams and spoons with my husband. Mornings now, are about savoring; they are about deep intimacy and quiet. They are about finding the little spot of light suspended on the wooden beam of our ceiling, and guessing what time it is by its placement.
  • Mornings now, are about that almost indecipherable moment when I wake up, where I don’t know who I am, who I’ve been, or who I want to be.
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