Some mornings just don’t seem like they’re worth getting out of bed for.
I begrudgingly trudge out of sleep already battling a migraine, with Abby in tow. Buzz wakes up with a pitiful burst shortly after. I turn the television channel to the last few minutes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse in an effort for peace, an extra second to rub my eyes open, and that’s when Jedi stumbles groggily out of his room. He notices that it’s the end, however, so the tears and whine flow before even a good morning.
“You haven’t wanted to watch Mickey Mouse in a long time, Jedi”, I remind him.
“But I wanted to watch it TODAY!”, he stammers in the midst of a fit.
Of course you did. Because you’re 6 and everything has to be difficult.
“Bring Mickey Mouse back NOW!”, he demands. Ignorance is bliss at this point.
He finally calms down, before everybody else starts up. Buzz screams at Abby and Abby screams at Buzz. Over toys, over books, over a breakfast muffin, over a spot on the chair, over oxygen in the air. Abby throws a toy at Jedi, and he joins in again. “You should punish her!”, he bellows my way behind still-tired cries. “Don’t throw things at your brother”, I sternly offer, as her face melts into an angry pout.
When I think back to my life pre-children, what strikes me most is how quiet it was. Now, there’s so much noise radiating from the walls at all hours of the day. Even before 9 a.m. Which leaves me wondering, is it time to go back to bed yet?