This morning, both my boys got up with their alarm clocks.
And by alarm clocks, I mean me tramping down the hall and telling them to get up.
They proceeded to cheerfully shower and get ready for school.
And by cheerfully, I mean fight about who had to take a shower first.
After much negotiation, they finally both had showers, and headed downstairs to quietly make themselves some breakfast.
And by quietly, I mean wake-the-dead-loud.
McKay is in a smoothie phase right now, and there's nothing I love more than hearing the blender crunch up ice at six in the morning.
And by love, I mean hate.
I hugged them both, handed out lunches, and waved as they went out the door. Then I promptly began to exercise.
And by exercise, I mean crawl back into bed and fall asleep.
An hour later, it was time to rouse the little Hannah. She woke up in her usual cheerful way.
And by cheerful, I mean hate-the-world-grumpy.
She quietly ate her breakfast while I made her lunch. She then calmly styled her hair and got dressed.
And by calmly, I mean with many tears. Her hair was "too fuzzy" (her words) to do anything with today. There might have been some silent cursing on her part.
And by silent, I mean slamming of doors and loud sighing.
I dried her tears, fixed her hair, and dropped her off at school with a bit of melancholy in my heart for the loss of her company.
And by melancholy, I mean joy.
I then plotted out my day and began my work ahead.
And by work, I do mean climbing back into bed yet again and ignoring it all.