This morning, I am sprawled across the bed in a deep sleep the morning after taking Dominic camping overnight at Starfish Point. Needless to say, I’m a bit exhausted.
Suddenly, the bright orange earplugs crammed in my ears let the serenading of Harry Connick Jr.‘s “It’s starting to look like Christmas” pass past its rubbery exterior. I am befuddled and wondering what the heck my kids are up to.
Initially I was aggravated to be woken up, since sleep is a fleeting resource that becomes more endangered with each subsequent child, but I squint to see seated on the side of the mattress Sophie and Domino have a big smile on their faces.
In their sincere thoughtfulness, the ankle biters decided to make me breakfast in bed. There laid out next to me was a beautiful array food. Not what some would consider “normal” breakfast foods.
Spread out before me in front of a sign that read “Good Morning Dad! Love . . . ?” was one mozzarella cheese stick, one chewy chocolate chip granola bar, a dry bowl of Fiber One, and to wash it all down, a can of Coors Light poured into a fancy plastic wine glass.
“Why did you pour me a can of beer in the morning?”
“Dad, there wasn’t any orange juice!”
The obvious second choice to OJ.
When the craziness of three kids has me checking parts of sanity at the door, the kids “totally redeem themselves” with acts like this.
