[written for timly...others too, but him because I just read his "Patience" post.]
I'm not much of a morning person. Nor am I a summer person. Now, not only do I have to get up - and sleeping is a chore I try to avoid more than I care to admit as it is so it's not easy - but I have to get up and walk into this terrible heat. The kind that builds a wall of sweat just outside your door. Makes you feel icky and uncomfortable. My moods can swing with Tarzan and snap like a snake during most of these early-day trials. But what can you do?
Gotta get up. Get dressed, slap my newly shaved head, stuff things in my bag, grab the coffee Laura has blessedly made for me and shamble down the Stairs O' Doom to head to my lab - which every day looks more like a prison. Can you tell I've been out of sorts?
At the top of my stairs is this gadgeted gate - the kind that snaps out a bunch of levers and secures itself across the threshold. It's there so my two year old, Felicia, doesn't take a spill down the Stairs O' Doom. She's done it already nonetheless - none the worse for the wear. Scared the bejeezus out of her, but she's from a strong post-punk stock after all. Anyway, it's this loud snapping latch that alerts her to changes in household attendance. That snap means either someone has arrived - or someone is about to make themselves scarce. And around this time, when Grover is about to take another head-first landing, it means that Daddy's leaving.
So she comes tearing out of her bedroom like a miniature red-headed goblin screaming something that, when run through my internal Babble-Fish Toddler Translator device, comes out loosely meaning, "Daddy wait bye kiss!" Punctuation isn't necessary at 2 - which basically means she'd get along right off in alt.gothic, don't you think? (Boo! Hiss! Hey, I'm kidding!) Well, if her still-stubby fingers could poke the right buttons on the "Daddy Worker" device, anyway...but I digress.
Goth forbid I leave without giving my daughter the customary goodbye kiss. She'll buzz over to the nearest open window or zip out on the balcony so she can loudly and incoherently yell and chastise me for daring to go out that door without it. And don't think she'll forget by the time I come home that evening - oh no.
That's not all though. The Goodbye Daddy Kiss for her isn't enough on most mornings. Because following the successful Goodbye Daddy Kiss comes the cross-room shriek that after the Babble-Fish Toddler Translator device is done means something along the lines of "Mommy Daddy Bye Bye Kiss!" So I kiss my wife as the ritual final deed of the morning prior to leaving because my daughter demands it of us.
You see, in the morning things are hectic - mostly because the bastard normal types made daylight hours typical business hours, the fargin' iceholes. You have to get ready for work, wake the various smaller statured humans for educational proceedings, feed the cats (and we have three now, by the way - they'll be chronicled here someday too), make coffee. Lots of stuff that keep your mind numb, moods swingin' like a dancer in a GAP commercial and force the little things - usually the things that are most important of all - right out.
Kissing my wife on the way out the door is something I forget sometimes. It's a little thing - a little, very important thing. But I've got a reminder. I've got a Felicia Remind-O-Matic.
She's the caretaker of the little things. The much-more-important-than-most-bigger little things.
Originally posted in alt.gothic.