Sanctity of Sleeping In

Our cat woke me up this morning. Actually the cat got me out of bed. The dog woke me up.

I cracked my eyes open just a tad. And saw Fig sleeping right by my head. On the sheets. Next to my pillow. Crap. I had to get up in self defense. Or I'd be an irritated allergy ridden bitch all morning. At least I'd have a reason, hmm?

I thought "but it's Saturday dammit." Actually I'm pretty sure I said that outloud. But I used a nice sweet tone of voice, even if I was whining, so the animals didn't get their little feelings hurt. They don't mind it when I whine, it's the stern I-mean-business voice that gets to them. Meanwhile I seethed inside. It's Saturday dammit. We should all be sleeping in. I think there is a law about it. If not, there should be.

Do our sweet little furry muffins wake me up on the weekdays when sometimes I could really use some help waking up? Why no, they don't. They peacefully snooze at the foot of the bed. On weekdays I have to wake them up.

And don't even try to rationalize that on Saturdays, because we are sleeping in, they are waking me up later than I usually get up. That is just not the case. "Later" to me would mean at least an hour. Preferably two. If I were really really really lucky, three. (Well actually if I were really lucky, they'd wake Wendy up instead of me!) But we are talking 30 minutes here. One teeny tiny half of an hour. 30 measley minutes. These pets are waking me up a mere 30 minutes past when my snooze bar time usually runs out. On Saturday. Oh the injustice!

The irony of these animals waking me up before I'm ready to be awake is the fact that it is happening at all. The Boy was trained to respect the sanctity of sleeping in, even before he embraced the joy himself. He learned very early to take care of certain things himself so that Mommy could enjoy some extra sleep on weekend mornings.

My mom has a story she likes to tell about The Boy's morning self-sufficiency. He was about four years old at the time. The grandparents were in town for some reason or another. The house we lived in was rather small and we had no guest room. So guests were relegated to the fold-out couch in the living room. Primitive I know. The upside was it kept guests to a minimum and no one stayed long. Worked out just fine.

One Saturday morning when my mom and stepfather were slumbering peacefully if not comfortably on the fold-out couch, she was awakened by the aroma of food. The Boy had turned on Saturday morning cartoons, grabbed a slice of cold pizza from the 'fridge, and climbed in bed next to her to enjoy his breakfast. His typical Saturday routine was uninterrupted by guests. Consequently neither was mine.

And that, my friends, clearly shows the benefit of good training.
Now if I could only get the animals to be as civilized.