Weather: About 25 degrees cooler than yesterday. I'm not ready for the cold weather this early.

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A Typical Morning

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Select either "day" or "night" and then write in detail about either your morning or night routine.

Every night Tab faithfully sets the alarm clock for 7 a.m., but we rarely need it. We have a matching set of two, small, self-setting human alarm clocks in the room down the hall who wake us well before 7.

"Mama!" The first voice I hear in the morning is usually Stephen's. "Mama, I have to go to the bathroom!"

"Well, go ahead, then," I call back to him. I'm not sure why he feels he must announce it to all of us.

A small thump and shuffling noise tells me he has gotten out of his bed and is trundling down the steps. A few minutes later I hear him return.

"Mama, is it time to get up yet?"

"Not now, Reno. Rest for a little bit longer," I say, turning over and trying to slip back into my last dream.

The effort is futile, however, and I soon give up and get out of bed. Daniel's door is still closed as I walk by. I imagine him curled in his bed like a hibernating wild creature, his room dark as a cave.

"You can get up, guys," I call as I pass Stephen and Matthew's room. Giggling and chattering to each other, they follow me down the steps.

I power the computer up and wander off to the bathroom. By the time I'm back, the machine has booted so I log on and do a quick check of my email. The twins have turned on Sesame Street, but they are more interested in playing with their wooden Brio train set than in watching Elmo.

I hear noises upstairs: Tab is walking around in our bedroom, he's putting up the window shades, he's walking down the hall to Daniel's room. "Wake up, big guy," I hear him say. Tab descends the stairway, followed by a bleary-eyed Daniel.

Time for the boys to get dressed. I rummage through their chest of drawers for underpants, socks, shirts, and pants. "Why don't I do this the night before?" I ask myself once again.

"OK, guys, here are your clothes." I tell them.

The boys know they must be dressed before they can have breakfast. One by one they report to the kitchen table. I pour bowls of cereal for the twins--"Rice Krispies and Cheerios, Mama!"--and butter a half a bagel for Daniel. Milk all around. Pastel-colored children's vitamins for each.

Tab finishes his shower, dresses, and throws a load of clothes in the washer. I finish packing lunches for Tab and Daniel and then quickly dress, brush my hair, and try to make myself presentable.

"Coats on, guys. Come on, we're running late!"

We're out the door, and our day has begun.

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