At 3:30 Christmas morning, something entered our darkened bedroom. "Mama, can we get up now and open our presents?" Brandon. "Go back to sleep. It's not time yet. It's the middle of the night," I grumbled. "No it's not," he replied in a chipper manner, "It's morning!" "3:30 is not morning, it's the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! Go to bed." The pitter patter of little feet slowly faded away. Then back again. "Mama, can we get up now? It's later." "Brandon, 4 am is not later. It is still the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!" "OK." Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...(sounds mercifully fade away). Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump...(and back again). "Mama, can I wake Jessica up now so we can open our presents?" I slowly open one eye toward the clock. "Brandon, what time does that say?" "4:30." "Do we get up at 4:30?" "Maybe we could today," he pleaded. Just for gee wiz, the cute little puppy dog eyes don't work when it's too dark to see them. "Go to bed." Thump, thump, thump, thump..."Mama?" Ugh. You have got to be kidding me. Why does he only come to my side of the bed? Why not ask Dad these questions? "Mama?" "What, Brandon?" "Is it time to get up now?" I try to focus my bloodshot eyes on the clock. It takes more than a little effort. 5:30 am. "Whatever," I grumbled. "Does that mean you're getting up? " he asks, ever hopeful. I give up. If they had Brandon at the Battle of the Alamo, it would have been a quick and painful victory. I wonder if I can rent him out to the military. He is much more efficient than Chinese Water Torture. "Get in bed Brandon. I need a shower. We'll do the present thing when I get out." I slowly crawl out of my nice, cozy bed. The boy bounces in and curls up in my warm spot. He is a happy camper. Me? Not so much. Victory is his.
Update April 2016
1 year ago