Yesterday, Last Night and WAY too Early this Morning…

So….yesterday was one of those days that I felt so very accomplished…and I wanted to feel good about that.  I really did.  But somehow, the stars just weren’t properly aligned, causing my family to act in strange and (okay I have to say it here…sorry guys) annoying ways.

First, there was Dan.  Ah, Dan.  Dear husband.  King of the home.  Handyman extraordinaire.  I understand that you wanted yesterday to be a day that we all would "Hang" together.  Great.  But why is it that your definition of "Hang" doesn’t jive with mine?  Or am I a bit daffy to think that "Hang" does NOT mean that the husband spends the entire day in the basement, while the wife and 3 restless children spend the entire day upstairs. Hanging.  Without you.

Then, Tater…Dear, sweet, 11 year-old Tater.  Who likes her Daddy to tell her a story at bedtime.  It’s a sweet ritual that has carried on through a decade now.  But Tater…please tell me WHY you found it necessary to lay in bed last night and bellow "Daddy" at the top of your lungs??  And then to stomp down the stairs to get him.  Loudly.  The stairs are next to Pit~Pat’s room.  Not that the bellowing hadn’t already woken her up.  Tater, I’m so glad you got your bedtime story last night.  Too bad it also resulted in Pit~Pat sleeping in MY bed.

There’s more.  (Of course!)  At 5am, I couldn’t stand it anymore.  There were FIVE people and TWO dogs in my bed.  I couldn’t move, I couldn’t sleep.  I was too hot from all the little and not-so-little bodies surrounding me.  So I got up.  So did Dassa.  I scooped her– and my pillow — up and went into Tater’s (empty) room.  Dassa says, "Mommy!  WHY are you doing this??!!?"  "Oh, Dassa," I answered, "It’s not time to get up yet.  Mommy was just too squished in there.  Let’s sleep in Tater’s bed."  Dassa didn’t answer.  She was already asleep.  (Tater has the most WONDERFUL temperpedic mattress.)

Fast forward to about 6:45 am, when I drag my tired (and late) fanny out of the world’s most comfy bed.  I hobble downstairs to pack a lunch and make breakfasts.  But of course I detour into the bathroom.  Where I find my beloved rocks from Cuttyhunk Island coated in DREAD LOCK WAX.  (Don’t ask.)  Pit~Pat.  I love you.  Very much.  But WHY???  WHY???  Okay, so you’re 9.  You have an obsession with hygiene products that goes way beyond obsession.  This is normal for most girls your age.  I get that.  But you are DESTROYING MY STUFF!!!  Because of your behavior, you now have to sail with your family back to Cuttyhunk Island.  Next Summer.  And find new rocks.  Sail, dear.  Yes, I said SAIL.  So HA!

And, Dassa…Please stop grunting at me from the time I pick you up at preschool until I get you home.  I know that’s only about 15 minutes of my day, but it’s a LONG 15 minutes.  So please stop.  Thanks.

And life goes on…


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