Cock-A-Doodle-Don't

{5:30 a.m.}

I'm hearing some sort of rhythmic, throaty noise emanating from under my bed. I turn my phone on for some light and shine it under there, though, I really didn't need to. I had already assumed it was one of my dogs puking.

I can very clearly see that I was correct in my assumption.

I am now wishing I hadn't had the light from my phone to prove me right in such detail.


{5:57 a.m.}

I am boring a hole in the ceiling with my eyes as I lay in bed, listening to the dog who just woke me up with his partially-digested food, snore and snore. I'm not sure if I'm more upset that he's woke me up again or that he's sleepy soundly. Both.

I convince myself he's actually awake and is just laying there, with one eye peeking open, waiting to see how long it takes me to get out of my warm bed. I don't get up -- I fly out of my bed. This dog will not get the best of me! Ha!

So, I push both my dogs off their bed and lug it into the kitchen. Reason why this is a spectacular idea #1) Distance makes the snores grow quieter {or whatever that old chestnut is} and, #2) Dog vomit cleans up off of linoleum in a fraction of the time it takes to get it out of the carpet.

G'night.


{6:30 a.m.}

What is that? Hmm, must just be my hair getting situated between my head and the pillow.

But I'm not moving.

What the?!

If you thought I moved quickly during the snoring, you hadn't seen anything yet.

When something feels the need to crawl across my forehead in the early morning hours (actually, any hour of the day is unacceptable), I don't mess around. It will die. I will thrash around and pound every square inch of my bed until anything besides myself is unable to even offer an apology.

{I then apologize to Levi for scaring him witless.}

Mr. Spider, you picked the wrong girl on the wrong morning.


{Somewhere between 8:00 & 8:30 a.m.}

I am cozy and warm and finally sleeping when I am suddenly aware that Eric has come into my bed (Levi had left for work at some point.)

I ask the usual question first thing in the morning: "Are you wet?"

"Um, no. My bed is, but I'm not! I took my wet underwear off and put them in the sink and put these other ones on," is the response.

I could tell by his 3-yr.-old voice that he was proud of his problem-solving ability. Unfortunately, my brain was still on "irked" mode and this announcement didn't help. Mostly because just 3 days ago, I had sworn to myself that I was going to get his comforter to the laundromat. It had been folded up and stored in the office for the entire summer because it was too warm and it was a pain to wash every time he peed. Oh, and the teensy little issues of dog barf and the spider tour de Janelle.

So, I made it to the laundromat, used one of the commercial-size washers, inserted about 117 quarters, waited & waited, and got it clean! It air-dried in my backyard and was finally ready to use -- especially with the cooler temperatures! And now I have to do it all again!

*sigh*

I consoled myself with a huge slice of raspberry-cherry pie. Alright, alright, maybe not. But I thought about it.

Strawberries on my Cheerios'll work, too.