The Way It Is

Over the years, I have become a creature of habit. I have a checklist in my mind; and every morning I file through it, mentally marking off each task I complete. I’ve done this for years now. My family doesn’t seem to mind that I often make too much noise at too early of an hour as I vacuum, make coffee, do a few dishes, etc., etc.—except on the days when I should be sleeping in.
“Marsy, what on earth are you doing? Please come back to bed, —it’s only six in the morning!” “Marsy” is what Randy calls me when he’s trying to be nice about my annoying behavior. He puts a pillow over his ears to block all the sights and sounds of my habitual morning ritual. I know that I’m annoying and I try, very carefully, not to disturb him! But I simply cannot take his emphatic suggestion and crawl back into bed. I am wide-awake now, and there’s no way I can fall back asleep. And so I go about my regular routine, making sure there’s a place for everything and everything’s in its place.
Soon, I am cleaning and organizing the bathroom, arranging all the bottles, brushes, and tubes neatly on the marble countertop. Finished at 6:30 am, I decide to tackle the ironing.
“Mom? Are you ironing?” Abbey asks me through half-opened eyes with a sheet wrapped around her for warmth. “It’s only six-thirty in the morning. Aren’t moms supposed to sleep-in on their days off?”
“They certainly are,” I tell her, “But I can’t sleep. I thought I would just get our clothes ready for the day.” She stares at me for a few seconds, quietly nods her head, and silently floats back to bed. She copies her father’s solution and places a pillow over her ears—two of them. Randy and daughter sleep through the morning while I remove the wrinkles from our clothes. When they finally face the day, I am at the ironing board still.
Father and daughter watch cartoons, drink orange juice and coffee, eat donuts, and read the paper while I straighten out the bedspreads and sheets.
“You really should let the maids make the beds, you know. That’s what they’re paid to do,” says my husband.
“I know, I know,” I concede. “I guess I’m just a creature of habit,” I tell him.
Even on vacation. That’s just the way it is.