Nora Jones' dulcet, smooth style perfectly compliments my mood today.

I struggled to find my "happy place" earlier, when I awoke before the sun, desperately dashing the 20 feet from bedroom to bathroom. But the soft, brushed flannel duvet beckoned me, so I tiptoed downstairs to grab my computer and return to its still warm embrace.

I admit no small appreciation of working in bed, alone, in the hushed pre-dawn mornings. With windows closed, I can't hear the birds' morning conversations or the thwack of morning paper delivery. But a bit of quiet jazz or classical music often accompanies my musings - or, as was the case this morning, my attempts to refashion a syllabus for a class of intro to professional writing students who desperately need refreshers in mechanics and style.

A productive hour passed; my son's door opened and he burst into my room with a joyous energy that's as much a part of this four-(and a half)-year-old's being as his impish grins and penchant for panda parties in the forts we build together.

We squiggled down under the covers and snuggled, while he recounted his dreams from last night. Apparently, while visiting his Nana and Pop-Pop, their house was attacked by zombies. But everyone safely escaped.

Patrick called. "The highways are a mess this morning," he reported. "Best to go through town and avoid 22. I think 78's closed for an accident."

Ugh. Traffic. The clichéd yet apt bane of my existence.

Ben and I motivated - he attempted to levitate from the bed and satisfied himself, instead, with a conciliatory round of jumping-jackson on the mattress. 

The normal 20-minute commute from Fountain Hill to preschool morphed into a 45-minute circumnavigation around school and city buses, broken down cars, traffic lights refusing to turn green, and 18-wheelers determindly negotiating narrow city-street turns.

Our journey's soundtrack? Benjamin rapping along to his latest obsession: Disney Junior's "Blue Ribbon Bunny" and "DJ Shuffle."  I absolutely cannot succumb to road rage with these songs and my son's lilting little-boy voice surrounding me.

"Momma, we're gonna be late," Ben worried.

"We're lucky because we'll get where we're going, even if we're a little late, and we'll get there safe and sound. Other people won't be so lucky today," I replied.

I joined him in singing the theme song to Jake and the Neverland Pirates, and we pulled into the preschool's parking lot joining the congo line of traffic-delayed moms and dads.

Now, Nora's singing "Thinking About You," and while she thinks about me, I'm thinking about Ben, and a conference call later this afternoon, and revising an assignment for Thursday night's class.

I'm tucked away in a corner at Starbucks drinking my tall, skinny (sigh) Caramel Macchiato,  quietly amused by everyone (myself included) tapping away on their Macs and smart phones.

A W-shaped flock of Canadian geese aims south in the whitish-blue sky, and I watch them disappear over the red gold maple trees. I sip my coffee, content.