Why I Don't Sleep Late On Saturdays

Saturday used to be such a lazy day.  When we were in college and for nearly five years after, we could sleep till 10 or 11 o’clock in the morning.  With the advent of children, that has drastically changed.  No matter how late we go to bed at night, I’m assured to be woken up around 6 a.m.  It does wear on you after a while.  In fact, I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at least kind of tired.

Why don’t I just tell the kids not to bother me on Saturday morning?  Well we haven’t quite reached the point in their development where that is feasible.  You see, toddler time runs differently than adult time.  If Gage has been awake for more than 10 minutes, he feels as though if half the day is already gone.  Griffin is starting to get the hang of it, but occasionally still thinks everything that happened in the past actually took place yesterday.

So, when I tell my boys to play quietly in their room until we get up, this is what happens:

6:03 a.m.

Two pairs of feet tip-toe up to my side of the bed

Griffin:  “Daddy, can I watch something on TV?

Me (groggily):  “You woke me up to ask about TV?  No.  Go to your room.”

Gage:  “I want some Eggo waffles.”

Me (growing irritated):  “Go play in your room, I’ll feed you in a little bit.”

6:07 a.m.

I am violently ripped from my slumber as one of the children dump a large container of Die Cast Matchbox cars on their bedroom floor…with their door opened.  I get out of bed, tromp through the hall and tell them, in no uncertain terms, that they are to keep their door closed and play quietly.  Then, I go back to bed.

6:23 a.m.

A nagging, drumming sound coaxes me from my precious 15 minutes respite.  Something’s not right.  That drumming sound is getting louder.  I trudge out into the living room where the boys have dismantled their plastic alligator see-saw.  At current, they are using the handles to mercilessly beat the lifeless alligator.  How this hasn’t awakened sister, I do not understand, but the troublesome two are sent back to their bedroom amid protests of boredom and hunger.

6:37 a.m.

A wail like an air raid siren rattles me from the bed.  We are either being invaded or Gage is hurt.  It turns out to be the latter.  Passing by the nursery, I sourly note that sister is now awake and powering toward full steam.  The boys have taken fixing breakfast into their own hands.  Griffin is toasting Eggo waffles and eating them dry.  Amid watching his brother, while perched upon a laundry basket, Gage has fallen onto the tile floor.

At this point, the chances of nabbing a little extra shut-eye have dwindled to nothing.  Maybe if we get some breakfast fixed, and if we don’t have anywhere else to go, and if there’s not too many chores to get done around the house, and if all the children take a nap about the same time, then we might be able to sneak in a little nap too.

I realize that there’s a whole lot of ‘If’ coming off of that plan…but maybe we'll get lucky.

(*Shakes Magic 8-ball*) – “Outlook not so good”

Boys Will Be Boys

I’m sure that at some point in your life, you’ve heard the phrase “He’s all boy” or maybe “Boys will be boys”.  But have you ever wondered exactly what that means?  Surely it doesn’t mean that the little tow-headed urchin running around the house is only half boy.  And furthermore, if boys aren’t boys, what else could they be?

I assure you that these phrases have meaning that goes far beyond their face value.  For a deeper explanation, let’s consider the goings on around my house a week or so ago:

Getting Ready for a Cave Tour

Saturday mornings are generally a quiet time.  On this particular morning, I was on my way to the sink to brush my teeth when I noticed some odd patches of discoloration in the bathtub.  I leaned down to get a closer look at said patches and was immediately hit by the strong smell of ammonia.  “Griffin,” I yelled.  “Get in here!”  My eldest came bounding into our bathroom, “What is it, Daddy?”  I looked at my brilliant, straight A student and calmly asked, “Did you pee in my bathtub?”  A wave of emotions played over his face as he struggled to figure out what the right answer would be.  Finally he decided to just go with the truth and said, “Yes.”  “Why did you do that,” I asked him.  His reply…”Well, I just wanted to.”  That was good enough for me; everyone knows boys will be boys.  “Clean it up and don’t do that again,” I said.  There was no need for any harsher correction, after all, I can still remember when I was a little boy and thought it would be a most excellent idea to pee in my parent’s metal trashcan instead of the toilet.  Ah, good times…

But the day didn’t end there.  When I went outside to mow the lawn, I came across a strange monument in the backyard.  Someone had taken almost every decorative stone in our back flowerbed and pitched them into the grass.  For those of you who don’t shoulder the responsibility of maintaining the yard, it’s fairly common knowledge that lawnmower blades do NOT like decorative stones.  As my Troy Built clinked and sputtered in death throes, I yelled out to my children, “Boys, get over here!”  They rather sheepishly made their way from the swing set to where I was standing.  “Why are these rocks in the yard,” I asked.  “We didn’t mean to throw them out here,” the elder spokesman stated.  “Umm, yes you did,” I replied, “or they wouldn’t be out here instead of the flowerbed.”  They shuffled from foot to foot as I passed judgment, “Pick ‘em up and put ‘em back.  Every last one of them.”  Why did they hurl them with wild abandon in the first place?  No doubt they were protecting themselves from tigers or sharks or maybe tiger sharks.  Those are the kind of games boys play…and both of them are all boy.

The very next day was Sunday.  I only mention that because it’s important to note that the boys are dressed in their Sunday best.  Somehow, they managed to elude the watchful eyes of every adult at my parent’s house and make it outside.  Upon hearing five or so minutes of unnatural silence, we began to fervently try to locate the children.  When I found them, they were standing ankle deep in a mud puddle, preparing to spread their chosen medium across the canvass of the driveway.  Griffin had thought far enough ahead to roll up his pant legs…we weren’t so lucky with Gage.  They were tremendously proud of the grimy foot prints they had artfully put on display, and why shouldn’t they be?  That’s the type of thing that boys do.

So, you see, these phrases serve as gentle reminders that if little boys aren’t watched like hawks, they’re likely to do some off the wall things.  In fact, just the other night, I overheard them plotting something to do with the dog’s hiney.  I don’t know if they were going to sniff it, or poke at it, or what, but it’s just another example of boys being boys.  An interesting idea strikes them, and they immediately execute it with little regard to whether or not they should.  It definitely keeps things interesting.