I am not a morning person. I resent the blare of my alarms insisting I must part with the warm embrace of sleep, especially if the sun hasn’t even bothered to get its glaring circumference over the horizon yet.
Looking at Mendelian genetics, this must be a dominant trait, as all of my children share it, and the other half of their DNA came from a man who didn’t seem to have a problem getting up early.
Pulling the children out of bed each day can be quite a trial.
Mr. Smarty Pants begged for tea last night and I refused. Then he asked if he could have some in the morning (this was after I shot down any possibility of him drinking coffee). I said no, at first. An agreement was struck that should he get up on time and be dressed and ready by 6:30a.m., he could have a cup of tea.
I was woken by noise in pitch dark night. Okay, 4:20 a.m.
Mr. Smarty Pants got up, showered, let the dogs out, put the load in the wash into the dryer, and got dressed….and then passed back out. So, technically, he did exactly what he was supposed to do.
So, yes, he got his cup of tea. The tea, as it just boiled, was quite hot and in his eagerness to partake of its caffeinated glory Mr. Smarty Pants burned his tongue, making it impossible for him to drink the rest. Poor Mr. Smarty Pants.
If only the thought of coffee worked that well, I’d never be late again.