Our routine in the mornings has become pretty well established. The kids get up and run into our bedroom. If they get there early enough, they find me still there. If they don’t, I come down and say good morning.
They always get there early enough.
Once they arrive, we either snooze on the bed until it’s time to get up, or they watch a little TV until it’s time to get up. Either way works for me.
The other morning, however, they were both extremely early and full of energy. I was dragged out of bed and into the den despite all my best efforts to do otherwise. My wife, bless her athletic heart, went on a bike ride.
When she got back, I was still in zombie mode. Yes, I had made the kids breakfast and was playing with them, but every third time I opened my mouth it was to yawn. She got her shower and took over. I stretched out on the couch and was instantly asleep.
I woke up to a battle. The 4 year old had spilled a tub of beads and was trying to get out of picking them up. His mom, of course, was insisting (rather too loudly from my point of view) that he pick them up.
“pick them up now!”
“I said now!”
“But I don’t want – “
… and then he was left to pick them up while she was off getting things ready for the day. Hearing no more commotion, I closed my eyes and tried to resume sleeping. I woke up a few moments later to my gentle and loving wife shouting.
“Hey!” she bellowed “when I said to pick them up, I didn’t mean pick them up one at a time with your toes!”
I can’t say that I blamed her. There were probably a hundred of the tiny beads scattered about the floor. C was picking them up one at a time with his toes, hopping over to the container, and then trying to balance on one leg while he dropped his bead in.
I rolled off the couch and did my best to sneak away for a shower. I didn’t know who was going to end up picking up the beads, but I really didn’t want it to be me.