Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Earplugs Are Worth My Sanity

I really cherish the quiet of the morning.  It's one of the few times I can honestly say belong entirely to me.  There's no background noise of cartoons gradually increasing in volume until I have to shout over the TV to turn it down.  The phone is not ringing and interrupting my already scattered thoughts and when it does, I find myself resenting its very presence in my life.  The local construction hasn't started yet.  Thank goodness.  I've lived in this neighborhood for nearly six years and there's always something being built or repaired. The dogs are still somewhat mellow and haven't begun their chasing and tugging at each other yet.  All is good.

Then it slowly begins.  Austynn is usually the first to wake up.  He reminds me that he needs his medication (as if I could ever forget).  He asks me if he could have the rest of my coffee (don't fret grown-ups, it actually mellows ADHD kids down).  No, I'm still drinking it.  He tells me how cute Tulip the dog looks curled up and asleep in her bed.  I ask him not to wake her.  He does.  He starts stroking my hair, asks me again for my coffee (I start considering it) and all of this while giving me precisely four kisses on my hand which I'm usually typing with.  No to the coffee.  I stop typing to give him his required four kisses back on his cheek.  I throw Tulip her nasty skunk toy-toy because at this point she's wide awake and ready to play.  I follow Austy out to the kitchen to give him his medication and breakfast.  I'd like to wait until we get a little closer to camp but if I attempt this he'll come into my study every ten minutes and ask me if he can have Pop-Tarts for breakfast.  Pop-Tarts are ok sometimes, but not everyday.  On this day it will be yogurt, a piece of toast, and some fruit.

The dogs are in full swing and so are the birds behind me.  I love the finches chattering; however, in the morning they don't sing so much as squawk.  Silence is not golden for these two. 

Tank and Tulip, my dogs, are growling, hissing, and wrestling over who will be the owner of the nasty skunk toy-toy.  It's amazing how I can purchase two separate toys for these dogs but they have to fight over just one.  The other little toy will never be looked at again.  At this point, I will also add that I have more dog toys scattered over my floors than I care to admit.  It seems that every time I go shopping, I buy a new one.  These adorable dogs have me where they want me.  They are spoiled rotten and anyone who knows us first hand can attest to this.

Austynn is finished eating, the cartoons are blaring, he's talking to himself, and snorkeling boogies.  He will not get up, walk ten feet to the bathroom, and blow his nose.  Of course, I won't get up and walk the distance from my computer to the family room and ask him to do so.  So I do the next convenient thing, I holler at him to go blow his nose.


"Go to the bathroom and get some tissue please."



Now my oldest son is up.  Of course, why wouldn't he be?  He's above the room where I'm sitting, working, and yelling.

"Good morning, Will."

No response.


No response.

Rather testily, "Do you have your hearing aide in?"

"No.  Can I play PlayStation first this morning?" 

It's going to be another one of those days.  "Tank!  Stop humping Tulip against my leg!"  Where did I put my damned earplugs?


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