In this memory, I am five years old.
It is a weekend morning. As soon as my eyes open, the first thing I do is to locate my mother’s whereabout. As an early riser, her sleeping spot next to me is always empty by the time I wake up.
In our tiny apartment, one can hear any sound coming from any place inside the apartment. All I need to do is to listen carefully. My mother is usually in the next room, writing something on her enormous typewriter. Sure enough, her typing sound reaches my ears, occasionally followed by a peaceful pause when she is probably taking a sip of her morning coffee.
I roll out of my blanket and walk over to the next room, rubbing my sleepy eyes.
“Good morning, Sweetie!” My mother is quick to notice me. “Did you sleep well?”
It is exactly as I have pictured. She is sitting in front of her typewriter with a cup of coffee by her hand.
Instead of answering her question, I walk straight to her lap and seat myself on one half. There was once a time when I used to monopolize my mother’s lap, but now, I leave one half for my little brother, who can be up at any moment.
I love this morning cuddling time when my mother is still in her fresh, happy mood. At this hour, she is nothing but gentle and kind. I spend this precious moment observing the detail of her pajamas that are right in front of my eyes. Then we talk about this and that, nothing too important, but just a pleasant exchange of words.
After some time, another figure appears at the door separating this room from the backroom. It is my brother, his eyes sleepy and a part of his hair standing up in an adorable way.
“Good morning, Sweetie,” my mother and I greet him at the same time. “Did you sleep well?”
Nodding without words, my brother comes straight to the other half of our mother’s lap, the one I have kept for him. Now, her lap is fully occupied. And we all start chatting about this and that – a meaningless but pleasant exchange of words – until finally, my mother decides that it is time for us to get changed and have breakfast.