You know all that gratitude I was waxing rhapsodic about the other day? It's still there certainly, still sincere, still true, but I will tell you that it is seriously challenged and definitely suppressed on mornings like this one.
4:57am: Oliver has some sort of dream and screams out that he can't see the pictures in the book but "HAS TO." He ends up in bed with us, requesting that I "bulb my nose, mommy, there's snot" at regular intervals
4:59am: As I'm getting him settled in our bed, Percy-the-neediest-dog-in-the-world bounds up the stairs and starts prancing nervously around our room. Being that he seems to feel no problem with relieving himself in our home, this means that we start to feel anxious and therefore must scurry downstairs and let him out.
5:14am: Jack's up with a start. More guttural noises emanating from a sleeping youth in reindeer PJs. I push Ol towards T and move into bed with J. He starts making dolphin-like echolocation sounds, and I really thought my head would blow off. It was starting to become clear that none of us were heading back into dreamland.
7:02am: Desperate for coffee, honking and coughing, and now officially over the patience precipice, I have a brief come-to-Jesus with the children.
We'll see how this day progresses. Presently, T seems disassociated, and Percy is begging for something, anything.
I have felt fresher in my life.
