Rude, rude, RUDE awakenings

First, I woke up at 2:15 this morning because there were small feet kicking the hell out of my lower back and a hard little head burrowing between my shoulder blades. What the…

“Bed. Back to. Go.” I muttered. Nobody moved.
“Hey!” I poked at Eldest. “Time to go back to your bed, honey.”
Nothing.
“Other Honey. Wake up. Get her back to bed now,” I commanded. Yeah yeah, I could have done it myself. But he’s the one who let her in there in the first place, I vote it’s his problem getting her out of there again. Besides, my rotten husband has this magical ability to get up, deal with things, get back in bed and be asleep again in less than ten seconds. Me, if my tootsies hit the floor that’s it. I’m awake. No going back to sleep without chemical assistance for me once I’ve achieved verticality.

So two hours later the alarm goes off and we start the ‘getting the husband out of bed’ process. Alarm goes off, I poke at him, he says, “FiveMoreMinnits…” and I hit the snooze button; we repeat this once; and then I start pushing and shoving and hissing at him that he needs to get up or he’s going to end up in the office until, like, midnight, get going, get going, get going get going get going…

Then, exhausted, I doze while he showers and gets dressed. Usually at this point I schlep downstairs with him, make our coffee while he puts together his lunch and so forth, we chat a few minutes, he leaves, and I get to putter around for an hour or two before the kids start bouncing wildly.

Well, this morning, I didn’t get up for coffee. Himself said, “You want to just stay in bed?” and I said, “Yes. Yes, I do. Have a good day,” and tunneled myself back under my covers like a burrowing owl.

Half an hour later (about 5:30, for those keeping track at home), my door banged open and Boo Bug stood there peering at me.

“Mommy!” comes the urgent whisper.
“{snork, cough} Wha?”
“Mommy! Can I come sleep with you?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah, OK. C’mere.”
“Mommy!”
“Come here, honey. Don’t wake up your brother.”
“But I wanna sleep with you.”
“Then come here.”
“But mommmmeeeee…I wanna sleep with you.”
“You aren’t going to do that from the door. Come. Here.”
“But mommy!”

About this point, I get mad. I sit up in bed and say, “Boo Bug. Come. Here. Right. Now.”

To which she replied, “But…but mommy…I wanna come in and sleep with you.”

This is typical of Boo Bug being defiant. She doesn’t say ‘no’, she doesn’t directly fight with you, she just ignores and/or deflects you. I got mad. I got really mad. Mostly because I now had one of those headaches you sometimes get when you wake up, doze a little while, wake up, doze a while, wake up, actually get back into real sleep, and then are abruptly jerked back awake again.

“Awright, that’s it. Go back to your bed. You’ve made me very angry, Boo. Go on. Go back to your bed. I’m too mad to have you in here with me now. You should have come when I called you. Go.”

So she wanders off back to her bed. I got up (remember my complaint above about not being able to get back to sleep once I’ve gotten up?) and watched from the door as she got back into her still-dark room and climbed into bed. She lay down and put her fingers into her mouth. I shut the door, got back in bed, and watched my ceiling be completely uninteresting. Sure as death and taxes, now I’m wide awake. Oh well.

I start planning my day, staring up at the monotonous ceiling…a load or two or ten of laundry, change the sheets on the beds, replace the towels, vacuum upstairs, oooooooooh yeah, I’m supposed to be washing the windows throughout the house this week (feh!) and I wonder how much that security laminate I saw featured on ‘It Takes A Thief’ last week would cost because gee, it seems to me that it would be worth having just due to having so many kids bouncing around trying to kill themselves; glass that doesn’t shatter can’t be anything but good, when you stop to think about it…

I had moved on to chuckling about how disappointed a thief would be if he broke in here. No jewelry. No cash. One laptop, that would be good…a little silver, but nothing to write home about… maybe the checkbook…hmm… where did I put that thing last…?

And then I hear: “Ayi! Ya ya ya ya! Goo-GA! GA! Mummah magoo {giggle shriek}!!” {rattle rattle rattle go the crib slats}

Whaaaaaaaaaa? Oh, now come on. That baby is not awake at this hour!! Oh yes he is, though, I can hear him jumping up and down, using his crib mattress as a trampoline (173% boy, my Bacon Bit).

Then suddenly, Boo is back in my room, quivering with glee.

“Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy! Bacon Bit is awake! And he’s looking at me! Because he was lying down, but then I pushed on his eye and he woke up and now he’s looking at me!”

Yes, that’s right. The baby was peacefully sleeping in his room, and Boo went in there (a blatant violation of Den of Chaos Denizen Laws #27,280, thou shalt not go unto rooms which are not thine own AND #37,217, thou shalt not wake up the slumbering infant, lest the wrath of thy mother exceed her ability to remember that thou art likewise her baby and beloved unto her), reached through the slats of his crib, and pushed on his eyeballs like they were ‘on’ buttons to wake him up.

ARGH!!

I just want to check. If I understand the law correctly, it would be illegal for me to, say, duct tape that three year old kid into her bed for the night? Or brick up her door?

Damn. Stupid laws. Always protecting the so-called ‘helpless’.

Where’s the law that protects me, huh?! I was so irked by my rude awakening (again) that I was forced to have two double mochas and a two-serving-sized slice of banana cream pie for breakfast. Forced!! {blatant lie} I was planning to have a half cup of nonfat cottage cheese, an apple and a cup of black decaf coffee {/blatant lie}, but noooooooo. The kids made me pound back two heavily-leaded mochas and a massive slice of banana cream pie. Which is going to contribute to my belly-floppage, which, as we all know, is a leading cause of tummy tuck surgery, which is damned expensive. And where am I going to get the money? From the college funds, of course!! After all, it’s all their fault that I look like this, it’s only fair!

And then people are going to stand around and tsk at me: What a rotten mother! Look at her poor little darlings, not able to go to college because she spent all their money on that tummy tuck!

It just ain’t fair, I tell you, it just ain’t fair…