Wake-Up Call
My kids have an internal clock that goes off every seven days, at approximately 6:00 Saturday morning. Because Jake and Sam went to bed later than usual last night and because Abby had a little mid-night fit, I thought, perhaps, silly me, that everyone would sleep later today. But in the pre-dawn darkness, I heard the unmistakable padding of footsteps and sure enough, there was Jake, inches from my face, "Mommy, is it wake-up time?"
At this point I'm not even sure what time it is. I only know that is it pitch black outside. Not even the little bird who nests outside the bedroom window is warbling. Perhaps her chicks are letting her sleep in. Perhaps the Daddy bird has taken them to birdy IHOP to give the Mommy Bird a break. All I know is it is very wrong to be up before the birds on a Saturday morning.
"No, Jakey, it isn't wake-up time. It's still dark. I have to drag you out of bed every weekday, now I want to stay in bed."
"You want me to punch you in the face?" he asks as if he's offering me a cup of coffee.
"Jakey, I'm getting up. It just takes me longer than you."
"One, Mommy. Two, Mommy. Three, Mommy." (Jake is fond of the countdown these days. Everything from making his breakfast to wiping his behind to getting a cup of chocolate milk elicits the countdown.)
But I have a theory about the early Saturdays. It's part of a larger theory really. Like my theory about how I know God is a man, it is based in biology. Here it is: I think children purposefully hasten parents through the aging process.
Parents don't age because time passes. Parents age because they don't sleep, they worry, they eat poorly. Our kids think we're out of touch but it's actually their fault: We opt out of popular culture for years to listen to Raffi and Eddie Coker (if you're lucky, Dan Zanes), to watch Barney and the Wiggles and Justice League. We stop dressing stylishly or professionally in favor of comfortable, patterned clothes that don't show stains or wrinkles. Years of half-witted answers and baby talk and Dr. Suess books mush the brain, and you soon find yourself cutting your husband's steak at a black-tie event or spending an entire adult lunch hour praising the Backyardigans. Decades later, when the kids are grown, we know nothing about popular culture, fashion, this crazy thing called MTV that the kids all talk about (is it even MTV anymore?).
Don't get me wrong. Kids do keep you young at heart, and they keep things in perspective. For example, is an extra few minutes of sleep really better than spending the morning making valentines or eating pancakes or wasting rolls of toilet paper to make mummies? Probably not.
Maybe once in a while.
At this point I'm not even sure what time it is. I only know that is it pitch black outside. Not even the little bird who nests outside the bedroom window is warbling. Perhaps her chicks are letting her sleep in. Perhaps the Daddy bird has taken them to birdy IHOP to give the Mommy Bird a break. All I know is it is very wrong to be up before the birds on a Saturday morning.
"No, Jakey, it isn't wake-up time. It's still dark. I have to drag you out of bed every weekday, now I want to stay in bed."
"You want me to punch you in the face?" he asks as if he's offering me a cup of coffee.
"Jakey, I'm getting up. It just takes me longer than you."
"One, Mommy. Two, Mommy. Three, Mommy." (Jake is fond of the countdown these days. Everything from making his breakfast to wiping his behind to getting a cup of chocolate milk elicits the countdown.)
But I have a theory about the early Saturdays. It's part of a larger theory really. Like my theory about how I know God is a man, it is based in biology. Here it is: I think children purposefully hasten parents through the aging process.
Parents don't age because time passes. Parents age because they don't sleep, they worry, they eat poorly. Our kids think we're out of touch but it's actually their fault: We opt out of popular culture for years to listen to Raffi and Eddie Coker (if you're lucky, Dan Zanes), to watch Barney and the Wiggles and Justice League. We stop dressing stylishly or professionally in favor of comfortable, patterned clothes that don't show stains or wrinkles. Years of half-witted answers and baby talk and Dr. Suess books mush the brain, and you soon find yourself cutting your husband's steak at a black-tie event or spending an entire adult lunch hour praising the Backyardigans. Decades later, when the kids are grown, we know nothing about popular culture, fashion, this crazy thing called MTV that the kids all talk about (is it even MTV anymore?).
Don't get me wrong. Kids do keep you young at heart, and they keep things in perspective. For example, is an extra few minutes of sleep really better than spending the morning making valentines or eating pancakes or wasting rolls of toilet paper to make mummies? Probably not.
Maybe once in a while.
posted by Romine Family at 9:11 AM
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