My body clock is getting used to the early wake-up call, so I’m the first one up on the weekends now. 7:15 – 7:30am the latest. I know what trying to force myself back to sleep feels like (awful), so I don’t fight the “awake,” I just get up, brew some coffee, and go. To quote Anna, “The sky’s awake, so I’m awake.”
This makes for a somewhat easier Monday morning, for me – waking up from the weekend of “sleeping late” doesn’t mean much to me, because I didn’t sleep late, y’know? But waking these KIDS up? DUDE, they’re like dragging a bag of bricks from the top bunk. AND THEY’RE NOT EVEN ALL ON THE TOP BUNK, EITHER.
Nothing says, “Good morning, Mom!” like walking into a land-mine of dirty clothes, wet bath towels, and a myriad of other crap, like shoes, game controllers, or my personal favorite – hair brushes hidden under other crap. Do you know what it feels like to walk on those things, when the nubs have rubbed off the bristles, making them pointy and sharp? Like NEEDLES.
And don’t get me started on the Beyblades and Legos, man. It’s like the kids WANT to hurt us.
Needless to say, whatever semblance of peace I’d woken up with, especially after a well-rested weekend and easy wake up, went completely by the wayside when I walked into room after room to see utter destruction. I mean, how is that possible? This wasn’t even done in 24 hours, friends. They had (fairly) clean rooms Saturday – this was a matter of, what, Sunday afternoon-evening? I don’t even know. I think they wake in the night and sleep-destroy their rooms.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be hip-deep in wet towels, folding laundry, and weeping for my mom and a maid.