In lower elementary, every day started in the same promising manner. My mom would put our clothes on top of the heater and go upstairs to wake up my sister and me. By the time we were out of bed, our clothes were warm, as if straight from the dryer. Breakfast was served in a little white bowl with ivy vine decorations on it. It was plain white rice, but it wasn't nearly as boring as one would suppose. I would take my spoon and dig a trench across the middle. It was for a road or a canal. I'd pat the walls smooth with the back of my spoon. Sometimes the walls were structurally unsound and collapsed. I decided that there were little rice people casualties, and mercifully disposed of their bodies. Some days we'd have toast, cut diagonally. I always ate the ones with the round corner first. My sister always ate the ones with the pointed corner first. I always had a glass of water, and my sister always had a glass of milk. I often mentioned to her that if people don't drink water, they die. She never paid attention to my heartfelt warnings. When we got to school, she'd walk me down the halls to my classroom and give me a hug by the door, if no one was around.
These days, I have to get up, find clothes, and fix food on my own. I recognize that my mother had some mystical ability that allowed her to get both of us ready in only an hour. We dragged our feet a lot and stopped to chatter at her quite often. I'm surprised she didn't make us fend for ourselves. I know she was tempted to sometimes. I'm glad she didn't.
Also, I have just blogged! Hah! I need to work on that. I started to do the weekly quotes to make sure I blogged more often. It's not working that well, so I may stop posting those. I don't know. That will be in deliberation.