Last night we got the boys to bed by about 7:30, and then we watched Bridesmaids, again. We’ve seen bits and pieces of it, but wanted to watch the whole thing. It’s really funny, and John Hamm is in it, so it’s pretty much one of my favs! Anyway, It was about 11:00pm when we finally turned in, and I hadn’t written my blog yet—I felt safe that the boys would do something to provide fodder for today’s post. They didn’t fail…
4:30am: I hear bedroom doors closing and see a little wood nymph cavorting in my bedroom and up to the side of my bed. I scooped him up and put him between us thinking surely he would go back to sleep. For the next thirty minutes he squirmed, flipped, tossed and whined at random intervals–even tried to scale my body to get off the bed.
5:00am: Time to put Pierce back in his bed. He went willingly, but unfortunately as I am getting him tucked back in, I hear “Mommy? Can we eat breakfast?” Here’s what I said in my head “WTF! No, you can’t eat breakfast! Do you know what time it is? Go the hell back to sleep!” Instead, I chose a slightly softer, more loving mommy voice and language. Slightly…pretty much just remove the swear words.
5 something am: Mikey arrives in my bedroom. Pierce, surprisingly, remains in his bed.
1 minute past 5 something am: Pierce returns to my bedroom
5:30am (or there about): The boys go off to the rest of the house to play…our door is open, so we can hear them.
5:31am: I think “This is awesome! Maybe they are getting to the ages where they can play together, and mom and dad can get more sleep.
5:45am: “Mommy, can you feed me?”
5:45am: “IT’S STILL TO EARLY!”
6:00am: “Mommy, can you feed me?”
6:03am: “What kind of cereal do you want?” (M) “Honey Nut Cheerios” (me) “We don’t have any. We have Fiber One, Fruity Cheerios, Chocolate Mini Wheats, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” (M) “I’ll have Apple Cinnamon Cheerios.” (Me) “WE HAAAVVEEE Fiber One, Fruity Cheerios, Chocolate Mini Wheats, and Cinnamon toast crunch!” (M) “Uhmmmmmm? Welllllllll? I’ll have Chocolate Mini Wheats.” (me) “Finally!”
6:30am: I serve them their cereal. Just kidding, it was more like 6:05.
6:06am: (me) “I am going back to bed, I will turn on show for you. Play quietly.” (M) “Okay, Mommy. When will the sun come up?” (me) “I don’t know—about 45 minutes?”
6:25am: “Mommy, our show’s over.” Meanwhile I played dead long enough, and daddy turned another one for them.
6:50am: “Mommy, the sun’s up! When will you get up?” (Me) “Never! Go away!” Actually, I think I just said “Not yet.” (M) “Our show is over.” (Me) “It’s on Nick Jr. Another one will come on.” At this point Daddy gets up for good, and lets me sleep some more. He did this yesterday, too! I’m grateful!
Between 6:50am and 8am I sleep fitfully, have strange dreams, and hear screams and loud noises coming from the other room periodically.
8:00am, I finally rise from the angry dead, and wander out to the kitchen for a bowl of our limited selection of cereals while standing at the kitchen counter listening to Mikey chatter unceasingly about a video game he’s playing.
This is where I beg the question of other parents. Do all children ask the same questions 947 times a day 947 different ways (like Mikey does to see if I am paying attention, so I can’t even feign interest)? And do they all ask stupid questions that they already know the answers to? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—whoever said there are no stupid questions obviously never raised children and suffered the inanity of a chatterbox!
After my cereal, I sat down on the sofa, cancelled my 5 mile walk with Julia—which sucks, because I get lonesome for her—but also doesn’t suck because I don’t have to walk five miles—but then again, does suck, because it would have burned a lot of the calories I am sure to consume today.
While I am doing this, Greg walks out in the back yard to do something and comes back in with a video game in his hand. What the heck was that doing in the backyard? Apparently that little thought I had earlier about the boys being old enough to be trusted to play quietly while we stayed in bed a bit longer was premature.
Around the side of the house we have a storage box with balls and toys inside and a kids basketball goal stored on top of it (it also keeps them from getting all the toys out whenever they feel like it.) Somehow the goal was on the ground (with the video game) and the balls were everywhere. It seems that sometime between 6am and 7am, when the rest of the neighborhood is sleeping in on a Sunday morning, they were outside raising hell. Loudly and screamingly no doubt. This is the opposite end of the house than our bedroom, so we were probably the only people who couldn’t hear them.
Dad had a firm conversation about this—mostly the video game going outside of the house—so hopefully we’re in the clear from another one of these episodes.
Then I’m back in the kitchen getting my coffee, and I hear Pierce asking Mikey if he died in his video game. Here’s how it goes. (P) “Mikey Die?” (M) “Pierce! Stop saying that!” (P) “Mikey dead?” (M) “STOP SAYING THAT!” (P)”Mikey dead?” (M) “STOP SAYING THAT! I’m gonna kill you, Pierce!” (me) “Mikey, I don’t want to hear that sort of talk!” (P) “Mikey dead?” And so on and so forth—until I see the amusement and simply leave the room.
Finally, I got the two of them separated by sending Michael off to Sunday school and breakfast with Grammy and Papa.