I don’t care, I love it 

“I don’t care; I love it!” 

I could faintly hear my cell phone blaring to the left of my ear. The choice selection was intended to be an upbeat and positive way to wake me up in the morning. The music had failed its intention. My brain and hearing sensors have grown immune to the tune, to the beat, to the chants, to the bells and the whistles of this youthfully rebellious anthem of summers ago.

            “Ugh!!” I grunted as my hand slammed the snooze button. My hand had had a mind of its own and it knew exactly where the snooze button on my phone would be.

             I realized how late it really was when I still had not got out of bed 5 minutes after the alarm completely gave up on me and shut up. The dead silence in my room was the real alarm that woke me.  I glanced around looking for a purpose to start my day, before I realized I had a mission and I was extremely late.  I sit up on my bed and rub my eyes as my feet felt for my pink fuzzy slippers scattered somewhere close. I make my way to the adjacent door on the opposite side of my room where my daughters’ room is and peek through the door.  In the far corner of the room was a queen size bed pushed against the corner of the wall.  Above the bed “LOVE – PEACE – HOPE” was painted on the wall in Script.  On the left wall was a painting- a day version of Vincent Van Gogh “Starry Night” in vivid bright colors. Underneath the heap that laid on the queen size bed was my daughter Josephine.

            “Joey, Baby how do you feel?” I ask with concern. A pale face with honey colored eyes and dirty blond cropped hair lowers the blankets down to her chin.

            “My throat hurts Mom.” She whispers then she raised her comforter over her mouth, bundling herself more from the cold morning air.

            Joey had left her window slightly open in the night before claiming to need air and now the room was quite chilly. I knew better but she insisted. She was a 15 year old that thinks she knows everything, Instead of giving her a lecture, due to the fact that I was running late, I showed her empathy and told her she could stay home from school.  I quickly turned on my heels and tended to my mission.

            I raced to the bathroom to perform my morning vanity and necessary rituals before dashing back into my bedroom to wake up my 4 year old daughter Bree.

            “Good Morning Beautifulllll,” I sing almost whispering, as if I was trying to awaken a mighty dragon. I wait…

            “Good morning, Bree…” I raise my voice slightly and brace myself, not knowing what to expect.  Bree’s eyes fluttered. Her little hand gentle reached my face and cradled my cheek.

            “Good morning Mommy.” Like a melody out of a antique music box chimed the curly hair little fairy.