The baby is kicking me. Softly, for now. But I know that he’ll greet the day with loud and energetic thrashes if I don’t heed his wake up call now.
I open my eyes, and my youngest son beams at me. I’m still tired, but his toothless grin gets me every time. I pick him up, change his diaper and head out of our bedroom for Morning Play.
The blinds are still closed, but it’s as if a spotlight is illuminating all of the misplaced items littering the living room. I can’t see anything other than discarded dirty clothes, half-eaten snacks, work supplies, instruments, toys, little stacks of books…
Before my mental list continues to unfurl, a small and quiet noticing makes itself known.
“This feels familiar,” I realize. “This is Anger. Again, we meet in the midst of a messy house.”
My second son is whacking a wooden stick against a wooden frog, singing his sweet baby songs. Everyone else is still asleep which means I have time to be curious.
“How do I know I’m facing off with Anger right now?” I begin to pinpoint the sensations I’m experiencing, the precursors to the emotion.
Anger brings…