Garbage Morning

Tuesday Morning 5:44
I awaken to sounds in the kitchen.  Sounds like mice scurrying.  Or a boy quietly trying to make himself some breakfast.  I scurry upstairs and find the boy.  He is wrapped in his blankie.  He has made toast and is getting ready to butter it.  He sweetly says, "can you make my toast?  And some cereal?"  I do that and he takes the plates upstairs to his room and disappears. 

I go back to bed.


Tuesday Morning 6:47
I awaken to sounds in the street.  Sounds like the garbage truck.  It is the garbage truck.  I vaguely recall the conversation I had with J-dude last night when we left for his last baseball game.  It went something like this:

mom:  J-dude let's not forget to take the trash to the street when we get home tonight.
j-dude:  I wonder if I will get to pitch tonight.  I hope we win.  I can't believe it's our last game.
mom:  Ok, then, thanks.

I vaguely recall that when we got home from the game and the ice cream party afterward the conversation went something like this.

mom:  J-dude stop bugging your sister.  Get upstairs and take your shower.
J-dude:  I'm so happy we won.  And that I got ice cream.  And that I got to pitch.  I can't wait until next season!

Tuesday morning 6:48

I sprint up the stairs to the front door.  I unlock the front door and sprint to the garbage can.  I fly down the driveway wheeling said garbage can to the street.  I am wearing my crummiest PJs and of course no bra.  Running in this state can be dangerous at my age.  The garbage truck is going down the opposite side of the street as I am performing this frightening feat. 

Tuesday morning 7:38

I finally hear the garbage truck coming down our side of the street.  I don't dare look but I am pretty sure it has to be a different driver.  The other one has certainly either 1. quit or 2. had a heart attack. 

Next week, for sure, J-dude is taking out the trash!