morning alarm

My wake-up call came at 6:10 this morning.

I heard banging downstairs - even to make me think there was a small bear rummaging through my cupboards, clanking dishes around. Turns out it was just Thing #4. The dishwasher hadn't been run last night, so he was improvising with the ceramic bowls for breakfast - five bowls were stacked atop each other on the kitchen table, apparently one of each of the boys and for Dad. He had pulled the gallon of milk out and there was a fresh box of granola on the table next to the teetering bowls.

And I did not react pleasantly to being woken by clanging below my bedroom when it was still dark out and I had three more good hours of sleep available. I hustled him out of the kitchen and put the milk away. He ran off crying back to bed.

Hubby rolled over when I crawled back under the warm covers and wanted to know who it was. When I told him, he wasn't surprised. A couple minutes later, just when I was drifting off to sleep, hoping to get back to my dream about Amy Butler fabric, he asked, "Did you hear my alarm go off?"

"Uh, uh," I mumbled.

He thought about that for a moment and then said (looking on the bright side of a not-so-bright morning), "Well, I guess it's a good thing he got up."

I really don't like morning people.