Morning Run

Every morning,I drag myself from my warm cocoon
And hit the road.
Pushing myself.
Pushing my kids.
Isaac drinks his juice
And babbles to himself.
Annie fires endless questions:
“Mommy, what does that cloud look like?”
“Mommy, why doesn’t Aurora’s mommy save her from Maleficent?”
The oxygen that usually supplies my brain
Diverted to my limbsI can never come up with suitable answers.
So she wiggles, sings, asks for another drink,
Talks to passing dogs, and wiggles some more.
Finally, we turn onto our street.
Annie bounds from the stroller,
Bare feet slapping the pavement,
Nightgown trailing behind her.
She dashes down the middle of the road
Panting, I follow her.
Cooling down, drinking my water,
Checking my watch to see
If I’ve bested my personal best.
Down the street, I hear Annie shout,“I won! I’m the winner! I beat you!”