Dear Children on a Saturday Morning,
I love you. I do truly love you with all of my heart. Just not at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I love my sleep then. You see, I'm rather ticked off at you. All week long I've had to wake you up to go to school, listened to your whining and complaining as I've forced you to get ready and eat your breakfast, and hugged you through your "I'm sleepy!" wailing. Yet, on Saturday morning, you greet me too bright and too early, exclaiming "where are we going today?" "I'm hungry RIGHT NOW!" "Can we go to school today!!??!" You've got to be f*cking with me. I may or may not have said this to you in my zombie-like state.
Unless we have some place to be (which is rare because I am not a morning person. You may or may not have figured this out yet little children), I do what I do every other Saturday morning. I groggily make you oatmeal or cereal, turn on Netflix Kids, and sprawl out on the sofa with my blanket and pillow to watch a movie with you. By watch a movie with you, I mean sleeping with drool hanging out the side of my mouth. This, I know, you have figured out because eventually you wake me up by using my ass as trampoline or deciding to begin WW3 because one of you knocked the blanket fort down. I've spent so many Saturday mornings snuggled on this sofa cuddling with you and supervising your play (again, supervising with drool and snoring), that our sofa curls around my body as soon as I lay down. This is one of the many reasons I refuse to replace our stained, worn in sofa.
So dearest children of mine, I must ask you: do you have some kind of built in radar that beeps the minute it's the weekend that makes you want to do the things you don't want to do the other five days of the week? Why in the hell do you insist on sleeping in whenever we have something going on or somewhere we need to be? The only time you feel the need to sleep past 7:30 a.m. is when I have to be up hours before then and must wake you up.
I never thought 7:30 a.m. would feel like sleeping in, but it feels like Christmas 1988 (I received a puppy that year) all over again when I get that chance a few times a year. You might even get a breakfast feast instead of a box of Fruit Loops thrown at you if you slept just a little longer Saturday mornings. Even better, we may be able to skip that mid-morning meltdown we have (yes, I say we because I have a meltdown right along with you) and yawns starting at 11 a.m. I mean, wouldn't that just be amazing???
I'm saying this with all the love in the world...or as much love as I can muster up at 6:09 on a Saturday morning. I also say with love, dear children, go the f*ck back to sleep. It's too early.
I'm stupidly holding out hope for next Saturday.
Love,
Mom
