They say some things skip a generation. Not all interests are hereditary apparently. For example, my lack of a green thumb, as compared to the hands full of green-growing-ability that my Mom and Dad have, have been documented here on this very blog quite amply as proof. But you know another thing that has skipped me over? The desire to get up early. Oh, how I hate to get up early. My Dad, after a lifetime as a farmer gets up early as a matter of course. Hubs and I have long noted with a smirk and a raised eyebrow my parent's maxim that "If you sleep till 8:00 half your day is wasted!" (which mathematically does not even make sense). But me, not so much. I love to sleep. I love to lie late in a warm bed, half awake, hazy and cozy and ignorant of the alarm clock.
Now of course, I'm a parent, so that idea of 'early' is relative since these days. I still like (love, long to) sleep in, but at this point I think 8:30 is a lovely long lie in, which of course, my childless younger brother would scoff at. But when you usually get up at 7:00, 8:30 starts looking pretty good. But all that aside, recently my lovely Baby has thrown me a bone in the late mornings department and has taken to sleeping till well nigh 8:30 on a regular basis. Sweetest boy! Darling Baby! How I love him. And on days when Hubs and I are both home from work, we can all sleep till he wakes up.
Were it not for that other one. The older child. That Little Dude, who's internal clock wakes him at 7:00 am with one thought and one thought only. Where. Is. My. Lego? And who wants to come and build it with me? The answer: NO ONE! Not at 7 o'freaking clock! Honestly.
Though I should add that in true Murphey's law fashion, he almost always sleeps in ON SCHOOL DAYS. He only goes three days a week, but without fail, on those days that we have to get out the door by 8:30, his is still sawing logs by 7:45. And then I have to wake him and cajole him and then nag him and then threaten him to get him up and going. So, so unfair. Since on the following morning, when we can all sleep as long as the Baby will let us, he is up at the crack of dawn. arg.
Anyhow, my point is that this morning, being Saturday, and the first day of the Christmas Holidays, I SHOULD HAVE been able to sleep in. And as per usual, the Little Dude was up at 7, creeping up to my bedside with lego related questions. And as I'm trying to train him to let me sleep, I did what I usually did, told him I was still sleeping, and that he was free to go and play Lego as much as he wanted, but to leave me in bed until the Baby woke me up. And he's getting used to this, so he padded away to his toys and I returned to sleep with a smile.
But Hubs decided to get up (who knows why, I'll never understand) and after only 15 minutes or so, the Little Dude was back at my bedside. Why? WHY! There is another parent already awake! What can you possibly need me for? "Hey Buddy, whatever it is, go ask Daddy." I mumbled in his direction. "But I need my snow pants." He stage-whispered. " I blinked, bleary-eyed at him to see that he was wearing his coat and a toque. "Why do you need snowpants?" "Because Daddy is going outside to shovel snow, and I NEED to go with him." "Ask Daddy to find your snowpants then." I say, trying to buy time. "He's already gone out. He says I can go too, but you have to find my snowpants. He said." Nice. Remind me not to put some coal in my husbands stocking.
So, up I get, and search for the elusive snowpants, and mitts and extra sweatshirt to go over his pyjamas. And get him all bundled up so he can go out and shovel snow.
Note how dark it still is. The street lights across the road are still on for Pete's sake. So I felt like I had to take these pictures, just to have proof for his future teenage-self that there was a time when he was so eager to shovel snow, that he went outside with his pyjamas on under his snowsuit, before 7:30 in the morning. Just for the fun of it.
By this time, nearly an hour has passed, and what with all the doors opening and closing, the Baby was up and ready for his day too. Luckily, he did not ask me to get his snowsuit. He was happy to watch the action from inside, warm and with a snack at hand.
And here's my apple cheeked little cherub, ready to come in and chow down on a well deserved pancake breakfast. "I'm starvin' like a chicken, mom!" he declared. (don't ask me what that means, its one he made up himself and I have not idea of its origin) Good to play out in the cold, but even better to come into the warmth.
Maybe tomorrow I'll get to sleep in.