Why is it that kids cannot wake you up mornings in a civil manner? They become these creepy little midgets who hover over you in your sleep. Seven out of seven days of the week, I’m forced awake by the feeling that someone is staring at me. I crack one eyelid open ever so slightly and am face to face with my son, who has been standing there for God only knows how long, breathing on me.

After a nice long scream, groggily beating my comforter to death and making sure I’ve not wet myself, I officially come awake. I don’t have to drink coffee in the mornings. I have a nice cup-o’ adrenaline. It saves me a fortune in caffeine, but I end up having to use what I’ve saved to dye the grey from my hair each month.

After settling myself down and allowing my brain a moment to register that no, I am not about to be murdered, the talking begins. I’m never greeted with “Good Morning! How did you sleep?” It’s always, “Hey, I’m hungry!” or “If I accidentally ate a plastic dinosaur, would that be bad?”

“You’ll have to wait until Mommy’s stroke is over, then we can talk about food.” I’ll tell him, hoping he’ll leave me to it and come back an hour later. This never happens. (more…)