Its warm and fluffy in my cocoon under down comforter and small hints at dawn peak in through my poorly drawn blinds. The light of the room flicks on and flicks off. Flicks on and flicks off so I quietly plead for her to turn it off but I am told she has to blow her nose. With the light on, apparently. She creeps up to the crack in my door and whispers my name, the name that is hers to me and I try to ignore it. She says mama louder and I tell her to either sleep or go down stairs. Small thuds that sound just like the pain-in-the-ass diabetic cat thump down the stairs and I hear her gather her stuff to talk to herself. Small four year old chatter in the most girlie voice drifts up the stairs until I can’t ignore it any longer. The Spawn is not home to get her cereal and she will just eat pretzels until I get up to serve her some actual breakfast type food. Its strangely quiet and peaceful in Spawn’s absence and while I relish the difference his spot is still reserved and needed. The stairs are cool under my feet and a thick white blanket of fog can be seen from our window on the stairs as though the field has rolled over and pulled its covers up tight.