I leave in 9 days for a short trip to Tucson, AZ to run a half-marathon with my brother. It will be the first time I’ve ever visited him where he lives since he graduated from High School. And he’s lived in some awesome places in those 10 years: Chicago, Seattle, Kansas City, and now – Tucson. (Wait. I did visit him once in the six weeks he lived in Nashville, TN, but that’s barely 100 miles from my house, so that doesn’t count.) He has always come to visit me – he’s awesome like that. I’m going by myself, leaving the kids with MrZ for a little over 48 hours. Part of me is totally excited for the Zoot Time, another part of me is kinda hoping the family falls apart in my absence so that they will then be forced to recognize that, even though I don’t cook or clean, they can’t live without me.
NikkiZ woke up at 4am this morning. By the time I left for work at 6am, I was exhausted and bitter and irritated and bitchy. It is not unusual for me to get up between 4-4:30am on the weekdays, but when I’m forced to get up because some kid I brought into this world thinks it’s time to be awake? Then I suddenly have the urge to sleep until 9am.
Around 5am – when I was really started to feel the pain of the day to come – I gave her the following lecture:
Listen, kid. If you sleep past 5am either of the mornings I’m in Arizona, keeping your father from experiencing the true potential of pain you can inflict on a tired adult, I’m going to be pissed. I want you to get up around 4am, and then I want you to scream all day. Maybe add some pooping on clothing (his) or some throwing of food (something that stains) on the floor. If I hear you’ve slept late and been smiley for the entire time I’m gone? You’re totally grounded.
I’m either bitterly exhausted, or losing my mind. We’ll keep an eye on the situation.