The alarm sounded off perfectly synched with the sunrise. I reached over and with a smile on my face, without once hitting the snooze button, turned it off. I sprung on my feet, stretched out my arms, breathed deeply and within minutes I was showered, my subtle but flawless make up was applied and I was wearing a bright yellow tailored dress and some cool “putting-around-the-house” heels. I arranged the fresh tulips and lilacs that were delivered at my door that morning, turned the music on and started working on the Easter breakfast - fresh squeezed orange juice, freshly baked bread, croissants, ham and hard boiled eggs (which my boys and I had painted and decorated so artfully you’d think they were not to be eaten… ever) with tea served in my best teapot. I poured myself a nice cup of tea and sat down in my sun-flooded kitchen, waiting for my boys to wake up.

“Mama, mama, wake up” I heard Dante saying.

“What’s up, ljubavi?”, I always try to address my boys with the Croatian word for ‘love’

“Happy Easter”

“Happy Easter

to you, too Dante”, I glanced at my clock. 7:13. “Do you mind if I sleep for a bit longer?”

“No, but Blais and I are hungry.” Dante said quitely and gently.

I looked at him standing big and tall next to his two and a half year old brother, both in their red p.j.’s. Instinctively I looked for Evan and right away I located him snuggled on the other side of me sound asleep.

“There are doughnuts on the counter in the kitchenette, would you serve some?” I mumbled, immediately feeling a pang of guilt. Was it a dream? I thought I got up and made this nice breakfast for my family. It’s Easter Sunday…

“Sure, mama” Dante said and ran to the kitchen “Come on, Blais, I’ll give you umm-umm (Croatian baby speak for eating)” I smiled at Dante’s use of Croatian language. I felt a bit proud - sure they don’t speak Croatian in full sentences, but a word here-and-there is a good beginning. “Oh, whatever… I am not allowing any kind of guilt into my conscience. Not today”, I thought.

I made a move, or at least I remember willing myself into making a move, to get up and help him “He is still so little, he shouldn’t have to…” But I stayed laying still. A smile came to my face as I looked out the window at the ocean. “Thank you, God. For this morning. For my sons. For Easter. For this comfortable bed. For the soft sheets and the perfect pillow, and the warmth of my husband’s closeness. For liking the way I am - without guilt.”

We took a few days after the tour on South Carolinas shores, to wind down before getting back home where plenty more work awaited us. Matthew loves the ocean, the boys love building sand castles, and I love to sit on a nice chair, look out into the vastness of the Atlantic and ponder: I look East at a new beginning of each sunrise, that brings new possibilities and fills me with refreshed hopes and dreams. At the same time I look East where my past, my roots, my memories are. From the same direction come the new and the old, the lightness of being and the heaviness of the past. Such confusion…

Perhaps that’s why I also enjoy just sitting on a nice chair and reading fiction - especially fiction that involves shoes, lunches and big cities - without feeling any guilt. It’s like counting pennies for me: just letting my brain rest by giving it thoughts or actions that employs it enough so that it won’t take me into any serious pondering.

Not too long ago, I would not admit to this not even to my close friends, let alone make it public in a “blog”, oops, a “diary”. But I am really comfortable with me these days. I am who I am.

Happy Easter (have you downloaded Alleluia yet?)