by Dan Dillard
*****
Morning comes again and I’m greeted with the grating electronic beep of the alarm clock. Its 6:00am and time for me to take a shower—the only time I get to relax alone. I shoo the dog downstairs and hopefully outside to potty, but no such luck. Ruffles is still house breaking and that means he’ll stand at the door and whine until he has an accident instead of going through his door and taking care of shit the easy way.
The dog door…is it big enough for a person to get through? Squash that thought.
I wander downstairs in the dark to let him out. Right before I hit the light switch to the kitchen I shudder.
Mommy who is the pig-man?
I flip the light on and whirl around to survey the land and comfort myself, but I can’t shake the feeling. Nervously, I turn on the coffeemaker and prep it for my liquid breakfast. The scent fills my nostrils and briefly takes my mind off the intruder. I hear the noise of the dog-door flapping and am glad the little shit finally went outside…as long as he’s the only thing that comes back in. After putting some kibble in his bowl, I head back up to shower and meet the little one who is just waking. She rubs her sleepy eyes.
“Good morning, baby!” I say and hug her little footy-pajama-body which is still toasty from being bundled.
“You sleep good?”
“Yep!” she shouts, and then yawns and smiles with clear blue eyes.
“I’m gonna get in the shower while you get dressed for school, ok? You can watch TV in my room until breakfast. Your clothes are laid out for you.”
“Okey-doke,” She says.
This is our normal routine, unless she’s having a morning where my choice of clothing doesn’t suit her. Then we have a real tear-filled disaster.
“Any dreams about piggy last night?” I ask. I don’t know what made me bring it up; I was finally over my creep-out from earlier.
“No, I didn’t see pig-man last night. That was the other night. Maybe he’s gone, mommy.”
She turns and waddles to the TV and turns it on, finding a cartoon suitable for morning viewing. I’m glad to have the noise in the background while I shower. Ruffles jingles up the stairs and I hear a little girl’s shriek of joy. “Hi Ruffie! Gimme kiss. Oh you’re such a good boy!”
Once I’m dressed, we tie shoes, gather books and pull on a coat before getting out the door on time for school. The drive is short and quiet aside from the serenade. A made up song about Ruffles and Piggy who’s little stuffed head sticks out from the zipper of her back pack. Piggy and Ruffles go on many adventures and my little angel captures them all in song like a minstrel of old.
As she hops from the car, she asks, “When’s Daddy coming home?”
“He’ll be home on Wednesday, but we’ll call him tonight, I promise.”
She seems satisfied with that answer. Daddy’s travel is all too common, and we’ve learned to deal with it, but I know that she misses him more each time. I’m starting to miss him less. I love him dearly, but he breaks up our routine.
