FIVE STAGES OF BAD MORNINGS
My children have somehow forgotten that today is Saturday, and as such they should have slept in, thus allowing me to sleep in. At the same time, I have forgotten that I do, in fact, have four children who do not follow the 'Saturday-sleep-in' rule, and stayed up until three in the morning devouring the book Dirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills (ah-ma-zing book. Read it. I haven't been forced to finish a book in one sitting just by its pure awesomeness in a long, long time). So needless to say this morning was 'fun'. And by fun I mean I'm surprised my children are still alive.
If you're going to sneak, don't argue while doing it.
And thus began my morning, bright and early at 8am, a mere four hours since I passed out from reader-ly bliss (it takes me a bit to fall asleep). Now normally the lack of sleep wouldn't have bothered me. I run three businesses from home while somehow managing to not go all homicidal on the entire planet, so lack of sleep is the norm for me.
Normally I would have just crawled out of bed and waved my children away while staring at my coffee pot as it tortures me with its slow brewing.
Normally my kids would just bounce around me and argue a bit, before staring with zombie-eyed intensity at Word World or whatever cartoon I'd happen to put on to get them out of my a**.
This morning was not normal.
Why? Because my oldest two decided that they'd wake up quietly, sneak into the kitchen to grab the tablet, and proceed to play. That wouldn't have been an issue if it wasn't for the fact that, for some reason, they decided that the minute they got on it they'd proceed to then start screaming at each other.
*que bleary-eyed mom rage*
I immediately began going through the five stages of grief when my eyes shot open, blood shot and hurting. A tick beginning in my eye as their harrowing screeches jump-started my nerve endings.
Nothing induces rage more than shrieking, howling children.
Stage One: I stared at the ceiling in disbelief. They seriously couldn't be screaming while trying to sneak. Surely not.
Stage Two: Then, the anger emerged. Why couldn't they just let me sleep? WHY couldn't I have just had normal, sweet children that delusional parents always brag about? Those children that have no issues what-so-ever and have a halo perpetually attatched to their heads? I hated them, and myself as I pulled the blanket over my head and yelled at them to be quiet.
Stage Three: That worked for a total of five minutes. When they picked right back up, the bargaining set in. I may or may not have promised ice cream for breakfast if they let me sleep for another twenty minutes. I may or may not have started making promises to all Gods and Goddesses that I had ever heard of if they just made my heathens magically go back to sleep.
The deities have failed me yet again.
Stage Four: When the horrific realization hit me that I would actually have to get up, I felt my soul shrivel in my chest. The youngest two had jumped out of bed at all the ruckus and were adding to the exceedingly loudening noise. This was it. This was how I was going to die, for surely a brain aneurysm would occur from the lack of sleep mixed in with the baleful, haunting, spine-chilling noises emerging from the spawns of Satan.
Stage Five: I welcomed it, admitting my defeat as I stumbled from my bed, heading straight for the coffee pot for the nectar of the Gods, knowing that there was no going back now...
Only I didn't make it that far. It's now going on 11:30, and I have YET to taste that divine, glorious liquid. Why, you may ask?
Because my children are spawns of Satan, of course.
For the next three hours, my house sounded like this:
"Put your underwear on!"
"Damn it, toys do NOT go into the toilet!"
"I don't care if she smells like ham! You can't hog the couch all to yourself!"
"No, you cannot play on the tablet. If you ask again I'm going to burn it!"
"WHERE IS YOUR UNDERWEAR?"
"I don't CARE if he didn't want you to play your game! We're NOT going to ship them off to the circus!"
"Why is there cheese in a damn boot?"
"GO PUT ON YOUR UNDERWEAR!!!"
Even as I'm sitting here now, writing this all out for everyone's amusement and my utter pain, they're still going at it. Harley has taken it upon herself to defy her own awkward center of gravity by trying to flip from the coffee table to the couch (and failing epically. She just kind of flops back onto the couch and has yet to heed my warning that she'll eventually get hurt). Demetry is yelling at Lexia to get away from the TV, then running up to me and saying he wants to play on the tablet (having just forgotten for the 30th time this morning that they're grounded from it). Lexia is standing there in front of the TV, naked yet again and when asked where her underwear is she tells me 'panties not hoooome' while Jace is currently taking ALL of his big car toys and parking them right under my desk chair.
Coffee has yet to be brewed.
I don't know how the rest of the day will proceed. I don't know if whatever bug that got up my children's a** will go away and leave in its place those mythical halo beings, or if it will gradually get worse. All I know for sure is that I'll need coffee to survive it, and heaven help everyone if I don't get that elixir of life.