IFF - A day in your life told from someone/something else's point of view.

IFF – A day in your life told from someone/something else’s point of view.

 

I’m washed and clean and ready for Mrs. Brown when she comes down the stairs early in the morning with her eyes barely open and her hair sticking in all directions around her face. Mrs. Brown grabs me first like usual. She stuffs me under the Keurig spout and presses the button for 6 ounces of hot water and then another 6 ounces. I’m so used to it. She fills me to the brim and dumps in her ‘mushroom’ coffee, like Mr. Brown calls it and stares out the kitchen window. Soon she adds a bit of cream and her fingers relax as she lifts me to her mouth.

Mrs. Brown sits for a little bit at the table and stares at her planner book and drinks the coffee but pretty soon she’s up and the kitchen smells like eggs frying

and I’m certain I’m forgotten. Once again.

 

The Brown boy, that oldest one, is long gone these days, before his mama. The middle Brown soon gets up makes his lunch and combs his hair. He’s pretty careful about his hair, that one. Every day he makes sure Mrs. Brown checks to make sure it’s sitting just right and I can tell by the look in her eye that she’s proud of him but sometimes thinks it’s a little over the top. I just sit here at the table with the cold coffee and listen and watch. Bible reading, prayer, goodbyes at the door and all of a sudden she looks at me again and promptly puts me in the microwave. Once again. Like I’ve said, it’s pretty much the same every day. I know Mrs. Brown even if no one else does.

 

Sometime near noon, after she’s talked on the phone and written in her book and started the laundry and mixed up cinnamon roll dough, I’m empty and put in the dishwasher with all the other dishes. I’m special but not too special for that. Things are humming and sudsy and clean in there but I can hear her talking to the Baby Brown and feeding him. I heard her tell someone on the phone this morning that he’d had shots last Friday and wasn’t feeling very good. She does spoil him a bit but I can’t help liking Baby Brown myself. He laid so close to the dishwasher this morning that I heard him clearly, singing ‘For there is therefore now no combination down in my heart’. Mrs. Brown laughed and I’m positive we all did too, in here.

 

And goodness, the smell in here. I don’t think Mrs. Brown has made cinnamon rolls for years. She said something when she took me out of the dishwasher and filled me up again about going out to the office with me and the cinnamon rolls. I think she was talking to Baby Brown but I always listen. She said one of the Villa men was coming for coffee and sure enough. I got to be there. I’m special like that.

 

I’m quite sure she made a trip to the Villa today. It’s not every day she does that but quite often. I’ve never been there myself but I’ve heard enough about it that I’m sure she loves those old folks and at the same time overwhelmed. I mean, who wouldn’t be. Today she said something about cleaning out one suite and that Mr. Brown was maintenance man now and he had to fix the fire alarms that have been ringing night and day.

 

Later this afternoon I laughed with Mrs. Brown she did her jumping jacks and exercises. Ha, ha! I watched her eat that cinnamon roll too. She’s guilty, plain as day. And just like that she put me in the dishwasher again with all the other stuff from making bread and supper and stuff. Either I’m in or I’m out and that dishwasher is constantly on the go.

 

And just like that Mr. Brown is in and the older Brown boys and supper is served and I’m forgotten. It’s okay though. I know she’s busy with them and they are more important cause she told someone else that no matter what her men came first.

 

Now I’m perched by the Keurig again, ready to go for the morning. I can see Mrs. Brown sitting in her favourite chair with her computer on her lap, typing away. It’s dark outside and Mr. Brown just built a fire in the fireplace and Baby Brown is kinda grouchy. I heard her tell Middle Boy Brown that Baby Brown had a fever again. Mr. Brown is reading a book in between tousling with Middle Boy Brown and Big Boy Brown is looking at his phone again. I know he’s pretty excited about his very own phone. He parks it right beside me every night before he goes down to bed.

 

So, ya. The bread’s cooling right in front of my nose and that lamp on the shelf above the dining room is shining down on us all. Mrs. Brown likes the cozy stuff, for sure. That new throw is wrapped around her feet and Baby Brown is perched by her side again begging her to read. Must be bedtime soon.