Chapter 9 - THE FIRST MORNING ROUTINE
The morning sun broke over the pine trees at 6:00 AM sharp, streaming through the skylights and turning the workshop into a bright, golden sanctuary.
Before my alarm could even go off, a tiny, warm body landed squarely on my chest, knocking the remaining breath out of my lungs.
"Arthur! Wake up! Toby is trying to eat a crayon!"
I bolted upright, coughing, to find four-year-old Maya straddling my waist with an expression of sheer tactical urgency, while baby Toby sat on the floor nearby triumphantly chewing on a blue Crayola marker.
"Drop the crayon, Toby! Drop it right now!" I scrambled out of my loft bed, sliding down the wooden ladder with undignified speed, snatching the non-toxic wax cylinder out of the baby’s mouth before any structural damage could be done.
Maya giggled hysterically, clapping her hands. "He likes blue! Blue tastes like sky!"
"Blue tastes like a hospital visit, Maya," I groaned, wiping my face with my sleeve as the rest of the crew began to stir.
Within five minutes, the workshop was operating at maximum velocity. Sam and Chloe tumbled out of the bottom bunk, wrestling over a stuffed rabbit, while Leo climbed down the ladder with methodical calmness, checking to make sure his younger siblings were accounted for.
"Alright, royal guards," I announced, clapping my hands together. "Breakfast mission briefing. We have two boxes of strawberry toaster pastries, a mountain of scrambled eggs, and exactly four gallons of milk. Who’s hungry?"
A unified cheer erupted across the workshop floor.
As I stood at the farmhouse stove flipping eggs in a cast-iron skillet, watching the sunlight bounce off the breakfast table where five children were happily swinging their legs and arguing over who got the pink plate, a sudden, unfamiliar wave of peace washed over me.
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My bank account balance was zero. My truck had a broken air conditioner. My workshop smelled like maple syrup and wet sneakers.
And I had never felt richer in my entire life.
