When my alarm went off at 5:30 this morning I didn't want to get up.
Of course I didn't want to get up.
No one wants to get up when it's still dark out, particularly on a Monday morning following two lovely days of sleeping until 8:30 or 9:00*.
But my alarm went off and I got up and I dragged myself around until I was mostly ready and partially caffeinated and then it was 6:30, which is when I wake up Gabriel.
And Gabriel didn't want to wake up.
Of course he didn't.
I scooped him up out of bed, and as I was carrying him into the living room, he wiggled down onto the floor, crawled between my legs, sprinted back to his bed, and hid under the covers.
And man, oh man.
I just could not fault him for it.
Who WOULDN'T do that, given the chance?
So I let him sleep an extra fifteen minutes.
Because of all the mornings that I want to dodge obstacles to run back to my bed and hide, it's nice if sometimes one of us gets to do that.
I hope those fifteen minutes felt extra soft.
I hope he liked his dreams.
I hope this is a good week.
*I recognize that self-sufficiency is probably just a sign of neglect, but when Gabriel wakes up, he comes and checks on me/tells me he's up, then he puts on a cartoon**, gets himself a snack, and waits until he hears my (programmed, timed) coffee finish before he comes and wakes me up. For all the challenges that boy presents, he makes up for it 1,000 times over by letting me sleep until the coffee's done on Saturday mornings.
**Yeah my 4-year-old can put on his own cartoons because of that one time when he was still a 3-year-old and I was just.so.tired. that instead of getting up and out of bed I had Gabriel bring me a paper and pens and I drew diagrams for the VCR and the DVD player and the accompanying remotes. I win?