They come, usually one at a time, shuffling out from the dark wrapped sky-high in blankets and pulling randomly chosen stuffed animals.
Some mornings they plop themselves down onto the floor, sloppily remake their bed and return to their heroic dreams for a few more precious moments.
Some mornings they wander under the weight of their bedding until they find me. Eyes blinking rapidly from the brightness of the kitchen lights.
My favorite mornings are when they croak out the word, “cuddle” and lead me over to the cold livingroom couch. I sit under their still-warm covers allowing them to wrap their 40 lbs around me and rest their heavy heads.
They are quiet. They are slow.
It doesn’t last long so I soak it all in.