This morning, as all mornings, I turned the alarm clock off at 6:30. I must have drifted back off to sleep, as always, but woke back up after hearing the squeak of my sons' bedroom door. Thank God for that squeak cause I had drifted back off to seventh heaven and was getting acquainted with my new house. I dream constantly and some of them, I want to stay in, while others, I welcome the interrupted sleep. The squeak pulled me out of my dream home, but I didn't mind because I would have overslept and not wake my fourteen year old up for school.
I hopped out of bed, as it was now 6:45, which is usually the time that I wake him even though the alarm goes off at 6:30. I peered in their room and he was up putting on his socks. "Who woke you up?" I asked still trying to pry my dried up eyes open. I really need to stop sleeping in my contacts. "Me," he said sparing me the "duh" I would have added if someone had asked me an obvious question. It really was a "duh" moment cause I already knew who woke him and me up. There have been so many occasions that the alarm clock couldn't do its job for one reason or another, but when it was really time to get up, without a moment to spare, I popped up out of my dream world and greeted the day, one more time. Thank you God.
Back on topic, twice this week, my son has been getting himself up. I used to have the alarm clock in their room, but for some reason, they never hear it. I'd love to not have to get up for the two hours that I do, in order to get them out the door. Me being the good mother that I am, I set the alarm and on a good day, I scamper out of bed and wake the fourteen year old up first, and then later, if I'm still woke, after he leaves I get my eleven year old up. Since the fourteen year old was already up, I instructed him to wake his brother up before he left. I drifted back off to sleep and awoke with a startle because I remembered my eleven year old wanted me to iron his school pants. When I looked up at the clock it was 7:20. My fourteen year old was already gone. I hated that I had missed him. I always give him his morning lecture about being as good as possible at school. He knows what he should do, but I still like to leave him with my parting words.
When I went into the hallway, my eleven year old was up as I had hoped. He told me that his brother had told him that I probably wasn't getting back up, that's why he had to wake him. I went on and ironed his pants as I instructed him what to tell his teacher regarding the homework neither one of us could figure out. Speaking of homework, in my quest to assist him with my out-dated brain, I discovered there are actually instructional videos on the Internet where people are actually teaching you how to do math. It must have been too late because I just couldn't wrap my mind around the operations, even though I watched the videos multiple times. At any rate, after he was finished dressing and prepared to leave, I instructed him to have a great day.
Since I've gotten off topic so many times during this post, I'll begin one more by saying, I love being a stay-at-home mom simply because I want to make sure that I'm here to wake them up in the morning, if I need to, as well as tuck them in at night. I love just being available whenever I'm needed when it comes to my children. Being available twenty-four-seven to your children is one of the most rewarding feelings that I've ever experienced. Only another stay-at-home mom could possibly understand. All others can only speculate because if they truly knew, they would be stay-at-home moms too. On that note, I'm going to skedaddle, I have more hearts to make. Until next time..."Live your life by loving yourself."