Thank God It’s Friday

My day began at 4:00 a.m. when my 4-year old daughter pushed open my door and said, “Mommy, can I sleep with you?”  I mumbled, “Yes, climb in,” and she did.  She assumed her rightful position, curled up with her legs firmly pushed against my spine and began to cough and wiggle.

That delight lasted until 5 a.m. when I bolted upright in bed and said, “Okay!” and she whimpered, “But I don’t want to sleep in my bed!”  I replied in a fog of delirium, “I don’t care what you do . . . you can lay on your floor and watch a show!”  She agreed to this unexpected offer with glee and I turned on Nick Jr., covered her with her Dora blanket and turned off her bedroom light. 

I didn’t think I’d be able to go back to sleep, but I did, only to be awakened at 6:15 a.m. when my husband woke up to prepare for his usual early-morning Friday breakfast with a few guys.  At 6:45 a.m. he told me, “It’s 6:45,” and I agreed and decided to sleep for five more minutes, as if that would help.

At precisely 6:50 a.m., I rolled out of bed, pulled on a giant hooded sweatshirt, 10-year old velour pajama pants and my glasses, grabbed my pillow and went downstairs to lay on the couch and wait for the doorbell to ring.  The schoolchild that we’re providing before-and-after-school care for arrived at 7:00 a.m. on the dot.  His mom is almost exactly my age and this boy shares a birthday with my boy.  But this morning, we had virtually nothing in common–her hair had benefited from a curling iron and she was wearing a cute outfit for work, while my hair was an uncombed tangle and I looked like I’d just stumbled from bed.  Which I had.  She kind of laughed, but I do not take that personally.  I am a mess in the mornings.  

I showed the boy into the living room where he watched television while I crawled back into bed for fifteen more minutes of sleep.  Then I woke up my son so he could get ready for school.  I prepared breakfast for him, combed his unruly hair, signed a permission slip and gave him popcorn money.  The boys left for school a little after 8 a.m. and I took a shower.  For some reason, our water pressure in the shower has, without warning, slowed to a trickle.  I am afraid to investigate the reason for this because what if I have to call the plumber again?  That can’t be good. 

But I couldn’t wash my hair because it would have taken a few hours to rinse the suds from it.  But don’t tell.  I don’t look that bedraggled.  Compared to a homeless person.

My older sons are coughing up lungs and sneezing out their brains, so we hurried through schoolwork as quickly as we could.  They are playing computer games and Nintendo in their room now, so theoretically, they are well enough to do more schoolwork, but I had developed one of those lack-of-sleep headaches, plus I didn’t want them to sneeze on me anymore.

My daughter napped for a good two or three hours on the couch.  I ate two ibuprofen tablets and drank three cans of Diet Coke, so I will live.

And this concludes today’s episode of Mel’s Blog.