Fuck The Morning

I may have mentioned in the past that I firmly believe that mornings should be cancelled. The day should start no earlier than 11:00am, and end promptly at 11:00pm. That way I would be assured my standard twelve hours of sleep, which is my preference when at all possible. I have never been a morning person. My dear mother took me to a shrink when I was ten because she thought there was something wrong with me whenI didn't jump joyfully out of bed in the morning. I could have saved her the money if she had thought to ask me what was the problem. I would have said "FUCK THE MORNING!" Well, I suppose that would have prompted shock therapy or something of that nature, so I'm glad she didn't ask.

Much to my dismay, I have given birth to an alien child that loves the morning. He takes after my father. My dad loves to say at about 5:30am when I am visiting, "You're burning daylight". Yes, I am burning daylight Dad, and I intend to burn it for about 6 more hours. But I just grumble and either fall back asleep or give up and have some coffee with him. I know that he's going to take a nap eventually, and then I'll go back to sleep. I'm not stupid.

When Chicken was out of his crib but not yet grasping the awesome concept of time, I would tell him that he could not get out of bed until Mr. Sunny got up. Otherwise, he would paddle around the house in his footie pajamas at ungodly hours wanting breakfast. The nerve of some people!

Now Chicken has a morning routine. He sets his alarm clock as early as I will allow, usually 6:00am. This gives him 65 minutes to get dressed, make his lunch, make and eat his breakfast and walk out the door. He complains bitterly that this isn't enough time. He prefers to lay in bed for a while after waking, stretching and slowly luxuriating in the morning light. He also likes to watch the news after breakfast. I swear one morning I'm going to catch him reading the morning paper while drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a pipe at the kitchen table. My child is an old man.

Chicken has been grounded for the last two weeks from electronics. This includes the television, X-box, computers and his Nintendo DS. This means he has a lot more time on his hands in the morning, and he's smart enough to know that is when I am at my weakest. His devious plan is to do a bunch of chores in the morning, bounce into my room around six in the morning and tell him all of the glorious things that he had accomplished. This the same child that can take a whole day to do chores that would last any other human being 20 minutes. Then he asks to play video games. I say "No". He asks to watch television, I cave in and he hops away.

I know I'm a terrible mother and I suck at discipline. Chicken will either be a brilliant (enter something socially acceptable here) in adulthood or the badest mofo mob boss ever. I just hope he has some low level thug do the killing/maiming/beating because then I can just be proud and say that my son is a business man that deals in imports/exports while providing protection to local small businesses. It's the American dream.

On Thursday morning he struck again. This is the email that I composed to my father at 6:30am. Yes, you read correctly. I was awake and able to operate a computer at 6:30am IN THE MORNING because I was so freaked out by my child.

I'm up. Why, oh why am I up? Because my child is insane. Going back to bed. Have I mentioned that Chicken takes after his dear Gramps? He woke me up at 6:10am to say that he had emptied the clothes dryer, dishwasher, reloaded the dishwasher, fed the cat, turned the snake light on, gotten dressed, made his lunch and was about to make his breakfast. He had forgotten to set his alarm, but he woke up at 5:30 anyway. By the way, his only duties in the morning are to get dressed, make his lunch, eat breakfast and turn the snake light on.... I must blog about this crazy child and his "gramps" early rising habits.

My father's response: "That's my Grandson and yes, that is blogable ;^) "

I'm so proud of my dad. He used "blogable". I think I may shed a tear. Thankfully, Chicken's restriction ends tomorrow. I am assuming that the most productive two weeks of my child's life will end as well. At least I'll be able to sleep in the morning. 'Cause that's what matters, right?