Most mornings, The Boy wakes me up around 6:10 or so. I down a cup of coffee, throw on some clothes, brush my teeth and I head out the door around 6:30 to drive The Boy the 20 minutes to school.
A couple of years ago, we got The Boy a Clocky - an alarm clock on wheels. If he doesn't get up right away to turn it off, it will roll off his desk and roam around the room getting progressively louder, until even HE is forced to get up and turn it off. It has worked well.
Until now, that is.
This morning, I woke up at 6:15...I didn't see The Boy. The coffee wasn't made. It was very, very quiet. I peered down the hallway and saw a light on in his room. I almost walked away and started the coffeemaker, assuming that he was awake and getting ready. I decided to go make sure though, and I tiptoed down the hall (so as not to awaken the other peacefully slumbering members of the family) and peeked into his brightly lit bedroom. Where I found The Boy sound asleep in his bed.
It seems that the elder child has learned to quickly get up and switch Clocky off and then climb back into his bed and return to his slumber...which was, sadly, interrupted this morning by the shrieking harridan his sleepy, annoyed, non-morning-person mama turned into when she found his lazy butt still in bed.
This morning was a frenzied rush of hastily thrown on clothes, quickly consumed coffee, strident whispered nagging from moi, and a bewildered look from The Boy.
Naturally, since we were running quite late and I was feeling frazzled, we seemed to get stuck at every red light. AND we got stuck behind a train. AND behind a school bus.
I hate mornings like this.
And, frankly, I'm not a huge fan of mornings in the first place.