“I’d like mornings better if they started an hour later.” — Unknown
This was our Saturday morning:
8:15 am: I’m up. Check email. Sawyer gets up and reads. Clyde and Noah sleep.
8:30 am: Time to wake the sleeping pre-teen, who didn’t get to bed ’til 11:20 pm (or at least sent his last text at that time; note to self: keep phone downstairs). A friend is picking him up for rock climbing at 9:20 am and we’re all eating breakfast together.
8:45 am: Clyde’s up, trying to figure out breakfast. Noah refuses. He begs me to let him sleep through rock climbing and crawls back into bed. I call his ride and cancel. Clyde goes back to bed.
9 am: Noah comes downstairs. Says he can’t go back to sleep so he might as well go to climbing practice. I call his ride and Clyde scrambles for breakfast.
9:10 am: His ride arrives 10 minutes early. Breakfast isn’t made. Noah isn’t packed (he’s having a birthday sleepover after rock climbing with a friend). I ask his ride to hold on, we’re not quite ready.
9:11 am: Birthday present wrapped. Noah packing.
9:13 am: Breakfast of cheese toast and clementines on the table in record time. Sawyer doesn’t like it but eats the clementine to be a good sport.
9:15 am: Noah’s up. Coat? Shoes? Mom, where are my socks?
9:18 am: Ready! Oops, climbing back is in Dad’s car out back. Get the keys, run to the back. No, it’s in Mom’s car. Get those gets, run to the back.
9:20 am: Noah’s out the door. Family time over.
Exhausting.
