My little secret . . .

Another Monday morning. Day 16 of my 90 Blogs in 90 Days.

So I guess a follow-up is first on the agenda.

Idris Elba won a Golden Globe last night. Celebrate as you see fit. And check out Luther. Great show.

Personally, I made it through about two hours of the show before nodding off. 

But enough about that. 

This morning I indulged in one of my secret joys. At about 4:30 a.m., with the Whos still a-bed, all the Who's still asnooze, I snuck out of the house, and I loaded my sled.

Okay, it wasn't a sled. It was the manly mini-van. But that doesn't rhyme.

As I crept out of the garage and onto the street, the Northern Lights were decorating the sky. Haven't seen them since Thompson, more than a year ago. It was beautiful, although slightly muted by the streetlights.

I rolled down the road a few hundred feet before turning on my lights. Must be discreet, quiet. She'd be waiting a mere 5 kilometres away. She'd offer warmth on this cold, icy morning.

I'd had a spotty sleep. Pretty sure I got the requisite six hours, but it was broken. A few hours in bed, an hour reading, a couple of hours on the couch . . . she'd wake me up. Make it seem like I'd slept for a solid 8 hours. Make me feel alive again. She has that gift.

I can't do this very often. The stars must align, just so. Neomom must be on dayshift. So that I won't get caught skulking the streets as she patrols, looking for skulkers. I can't go any later than 4:30 a.m. The boys can wake up as early as 5 a.m. I must not get caught leaving, or returning.

The streets were empty as I cruised along Crescent Road, beside the lake. Not a soul around. No one to witness my secret journey.

I drove up to the checkpoint and rolled down my window.

"Good Morning," she said. "How can I help you?"

I smiled. Warmth and joy was only 20 feet away. 

"Extra large, two creams," I answered.

With my Timmy's in hand, I drove back along the lake, all by myself, no kids, no complaining, all the way home. The Northern Lights were brighter, the air a little less crisp as I snuck the manly mini-van back into the garage. 

Nice way to start a week. Have a great Monday!

My Time

Okay, that was worth it.

The new furniture that we picked up on the weekend is paying dividends. Yes, the new stuff, that was supposed to be in the rec room is upstairs in the living room, but the old living room stuff is now downstairs, around the gas fireplace, two floors away from my sleeping family.

And this morning, before writing this, I spent a wonderful hour alone with a cup of coffee, a blanket, Oliver (our cat) and a James Patterson novel. The fireplace quickly chased away the chill in the basement room and gave off a nice, warm glow.

It's my time.

I have always found comfort in morning solitude. At 18, when I had to be at the construction site at 7 a.m., I liked to be out of the house by 6 and at Tim Horton's, with my newspaper, for half an hour or so before work. While there were other people in the coffee shop, I was still alone, with my paper and my coffee, relaxing before work.

When I worked at the newspaper, I was there by 7:30 or 8, an hour or so before everyone else. I was the one who put the coffee on and spent the time alone, quiet, reading newspapers, drinking my coffee and, when inspiration hit, writing. The phones weren't ringing yet, no one was asking questions or demanding answers. Deadlines did not yet exist. I was alone in the office, with my coffee and my paper, relaxing before work.

And I guess now it's not that different. As a stay-at-home parent, my day is full, in spite of what some believe. From the time Sonwun stumbles down the stairs at 6 a.m., until he goes to sleep at 8 p.m., there is always something to do.

But at 4 a.m. or, if I'm lucky, 5 a.m., I am awake. And no one is whining, no one is asking for juice, the laundry can wait and the kitchen can be a mess.

It's my time.

Everyone sleeps through the sound of the coffee grinder at 5 a.m. I check Facebook, read my news on line, see what the guys are talking about on Dadstayshome.com and, now, I can curl up downstairs, by the fire, alone, with my coffee and a book, or in the kitchen with my coffee and the computer, relaxing before work.

And, believe it or not, there has been one constant through the years' morning rituals. The plastic Super Tim mug, extra large, has followed me through career change after career change. It's faded, old and cracked on the bottom. But it's been with me for more than 20 years.

But, it's now 6:04 a.m. and Sonwun has stumbled down the stairs, announced his plans to poop, and is now back upstairs making good on his promise. The paperwork is not far behind. I've had my time this morning and now responsibility is calling.

But even as I completed my first chore of the day, I got to hear, "Dad, you know what?"

"What?"

"I love you."

Never got to hear that in any of my other jobs. Life is good today.

Have a great Wednesday.