to my ears

I hear Hank first, singing from his crib. Morning music.
Mama, Daddy, awake!  Milk! Coffee! Mickey Mouse!

Beans whir through the grinder and the dishwasher hums its descending final cycle whoosh.
There are feet padding on oak planks, and the fridge door shuts softly. The clang of cereal spoon to porcelain bowl, the bickering, the laughing, the scrape of chair legs against hardwood, the whole house is awake.

Hey Siri, play Luke Bryant. HEY SIRI, HE MEANS LUKAS GRAHAM.
Hey Siri, play the Greatest Showman.  
Hey Mom, where are my socks?

Toothbrushes turn on, water drips, the toilet flushes. Singing, laughing, more bickering. Backpacks zip shut, accompanied by nylon jackets brushing against each other as the boys fight for shoe space on the mudroom mat.

Hey Mom, see ya later. Love you.

Three children, three engines of need, of want. All music.