Thursday, November 17, 2011

Strangle the Morning

I am a morning person.  No really.  I swear.  Lately though I have disliked most mornings.  I always tease hubs and tell him our little guy is exactly like him (in fact I just did it today!) but he really is like me in a lot of ways.  He actually loves his mornings, just like I do.  The problem isn't the morning time.  It is getting UP.  Feet on the floor, as hubs says.

Each morning I enter little guy's room singing "Good morning to you, good morning to you!"  Wait, maybe that is causing the problem.  Bella, the TRUE baby of the family we rescued from Wayside, greets me with her tail wagging so hard her entire hiney is off the floor.  Little guy never even stirs.  I check his pulse to ensure life and tell him "it's Thursday - you have music today, let's go have some breakfast".  No movement.

I take Bell downstairs to go outside and pass hubs in the hall.  Please get the man child out of bed, I ask.  Roger that.

I make some coffee and wait a bit.  Little guy usually comes stomping down with hubs behind him within 10 minutes or so.  Eyes practically closed.  Shuffling feet.  Identifying everything that hurts (true football player).  Giving me 17 reasons he can't get dressed.

I start his breakfast while I watch in resentment as he crawls under a blanket on the couch.  I ask him to dress, he tells me he can't... it's too cold.  I flip on the fireplace and head back to finish preparing breakfast.

A few minutes later everything is on the table, down to his daily multi-vitamin.  Still on the couch.  I tell him almost every morning of his life "Last chance to get to the table - I'm hungry and your waffles smell good so I'm going to eat them."  Meltdown begins, with 5 more reasons something hurts and he can't get off the couch.  Ugh.

So I usually hit the same place every morning:  I'm going to get your father.  HE will get you off the couch.

Nice.  Hubs has to come down and gently remind him to get moving.  Oh, and respect your mom.  To which he bounds off the couch, throws on his clothes happily and sits down to eat.

Secretly makes me want to strangle him.  Did I say that out loud?

Ah... no wonder they say patience is a virtue.  I have virtually NONE of it. 

Yesterday I even resorted to saying to him "It's my birthday, little guy.  The least you could do is get up for me on my birthday".  No response. 

I give up.  Until tomorrow morning....

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