This morning I was lying in bed, dreaming about my husband’s grandparents. An instant later I was awake, my lip bleeding, with a wrestling match involving a 7-year-old, a 9-year-old, and a Blue Heeler happening on top of me.
My husband opened the sliding door between the bathroom and bedroom and said sarcastically over the noise, “Are the boys awake?”
From underneath the chaos I told him, “You know, at least you can count on boys to be obvious.”
He went to shut the bedroom window so the rest of the neighborhood didn’t have to wake up to WWF. Then he handed me a tissue for my lip and escaped downstairs. Luckily, the circus soon followed him.
Chunky did apologize for the stray head butt that split my lip. And in the boys’ defense, staging the wrestling match on top of me was just their way of including me in their enthusiasm for the day.
When it’s Friday morning, and you’re already bruised and bleeding and you haven’t even gotten out of bed yet, the only real option you have is to jump up and yell, “Bring it on! Where’s the coffee?”
So that’s what I did.