It is dark now when I head out on my bike in the mornings. I nearly tripped over the hedgehog in the middle of the lawn this morning. I think we both gave each other quite a shock. By the time I return the sky is heralding the sun with golden fan fare behind the rooftops. Inside the house the mad rush of breakfast, teeth, faces, school uniforms, books bags, PE kits, lunch boxes, permission slips, last minute wees, shoes and coats begins. I stop for a moment before going back inside, taking a deep breath and savouring the special stillness of the garden in autumn. On nursing days I escape part way through the morning chaos, and Big Dreamer is left to try and tame it long enough for the walk to school. We scratch our heads at each other. How is it that after six years of doing the same morning routine five days a week, it still feels like a minor miracle when we deliver our children to their teachers in fairly good order and roughly on time?
