There is one Donohue tradition that beats out Saturday morning couch time and watching Kirk Cameron’s little sister painfully go through puberty 22 minutes at a time: the race to the Cape.
Many of our summer Saturday mornings are spent trying to squeeze over a rickety, 75 year old bridge with half of New England and New York and all keep our collective sanity.
It starts early. We pack the night before. Speed is key. Talking is minimal. If we are feeling generous, we let the kids go the bathroom, otherwise we roll them out of bed at dawn and into the car.
Fingers crossed, here we go. It’s summer, welcome to the Cape.
For the second weekend in a row, the canned laughter of an eighties sitcom audience was not the soundtrack of our Saturday morning. Do I miss it? No, but I will say it added a certain timing to our day. First commercial break, coffee is done. Second commercial, girls start squirming for breakfast. By Joey’s third terrible joke, they start bickering over the blanket.
Instead, Cecilia, inexplicably (she’s eight, she’s rather self-involved at the moment) decided she was going to make breakfast for all of us. Even her sister. And, then she actually followed through and did it. The whole thing was more surprising then a well-executed Gibbler sub-plot.
I’m trying to break a bad habit. With Addison’s chronic fatigue is a symptom, especially in the afternoons as the stored cortisol levels from the morning dose are waning. I try to take a short nap or rest to combat the fatigue, but that really doesn’t help the low blood sugar, which itself is a response to low cortisol.
Waking up from these naps has become a trigger to stuff my face with the first available thing I can find in the kitchen. It doesn’t end well. For a man who looks routine and plans, I have terrible impulse control with snack food.
Part of Cecilia’s birthday present, along with her faster-than-light pink bike, was tickets to Annie at the Wang in Boston. The fact that it was also Mother’s Day was just a happy coincidence and win-win for me.
I’m not sure why everyone we told assumed I was staying home. As if a man of my wit and wisdom couldn’t appreciate a classic Broadway musical.
Of course, I was going. I’d endured the cast recording and my children’s renditions for the past three weeks at the very least I could hear them live if only to verify that the Ally-approved lyric (sung at top volume) “bet your dollar bottom” was not, in fact, correct.
We started the day with waffles because 2 kids, careful measurements and piping hot metal couldn’t go wrong.
We woke up to silence yesterday. The nice, tranquil kind of silence where you lie in bed and find meaning in the bird songs outside the window.
Not the kind of silence where you wonder if your kids are setting fire to the couch.
The kids were actually away overnight at the grandparents which meant that we could wake up, drink coffee and have a companionable conversation. We did not have to have breakfast with Bob Saget and his family.
I could get used to mornings without slapstick and a laugh track.
Here is how the rest of the day went….