Fine. I’m awake.

Yesterday morning, we were peeling Maura out of her bed at 7:10 am, later than usual, and with ten minutes until the bus arrived. Luckily, she was too tired to fight us.

Last night, she kept looking for something, refusing to go to bed. She ended up going to bed about forty minutes late.

So of course that means that at 6:45 on a Saturday morning, she busts into my room, wide awake. It’s now 8:26 am and I’m about to make another cup of coffee and she’s watching SpongeBob.

I’m awake. I don’t want to be awake, but I am. I did push my luck by laying in bed for thirty minutes after she first woke me up, hoping that maybe she too just went back to bed. But then she came back into my room. She was up. I had to be too.

So I’m awake. Everyone else is sleeping but us. Even the dogs are passed out somewhere. I just spilled coffee down the front of my shirt. This means that I need to make more, doesn’t it?