Latest Brews

The Eight O’Clock Alarm

Pug Under Covers FB

I set my alarm for eight o’clock in the morning, just in case I dozed back off after getting the kid off to school at seven. Every night, I do this whole thing where I tell my brain, “Okay dude, we’re getting up at six thirty tomorrow, FOR THE DAY, okay?” and my brain is all “Right on, man!” But come morning, sleep seems so spectacularly amazing that I can’t seem to stop enjoying it until somewhere around ten-ish. This is not very conducive to awesome productivity.

This morning was going to be different. I had a more serious than usual brain chat, my alarm was set, and by golly, I was already thinking about my Low-Fat Pumpkin Latte Coffee Creamer, and all of the great stuff that was going to happen.

On schedule, the first alarm goes off at six thirty, and I go in to the kiddo’s room to nudge him for the first time knowing he won’t actually drag himself out of bed until six-forty-five (and also won’t understand why I don’t like beginning the wake up ritual a whopping fifteen minutes before then). Shortly after, I let out our dog, Lilly, and return to B’s room again, every five minutes until our litany of “Do you have your lunch money/jacket/homework/teeth brushed/do you know how much I love you?” dialogue begins and ends, and I slowly make my way back to The Marshmallow that is my bed. With only five minutes left on the Leaving For The Bus Clock, I hear, “Mom, can you please call Lilly in?” and I groan. No matter how many times we go through this routine, my son ends up very worried that our little dog has met some grisly demise and is outside unable to call for help, mentally begging for rescue. (Please know, I do not just willy-nilly disregard my furry’s safety. She stays out approximately ten minutes and twelve seconds, give or take, and has been quite consistent during the four years that she has graced our life.)

But the begging gets kind of frantic, “Mommmm, please go outside and get her, I am sure something bad has happened!” to which I groan again, throw back the duvet and stomp out to get her, grumbling under my breath about how a dog needs to be able to explore and sniff things and how we’re hindering her morning doggie yoga, et cetera.

Until I open the front door.

On the porch I find last night’s garbage bag that I thought someone had taken out to the dumpster.

“Did you just set the trash on the porch?”

“I dunno, I don’t remember. Where’s Lilly?”

“Lilly is right here. Playing in the nasty food that came out of the trash bag that someone set on the porch.”

“I am pretty sure I didn’t do that.”


“Okay, maybe I did that, but can you get Lilly inside?”

Seriously? Seriously.


The next three minutes involve me furiously cleaning up things I don’t even want to talk about while still in my tank top and boy shorts. I had just cleaned out the fridge last night thus…yuck, just, yuck. I can imagine the frown of disgust you just made. Trust me, I’m right there with you.

With only two minutes left on the Leaving for the Bus Clock, I thoroughly wash my hands and crawl back in bed. I am more determined than ever to take a teensy nap before the eight o’clock alarm, and I tell myself that I have now earned it.

Approximately thirty seconds later my eyes have barely closed yet fly open when the frantic voice is back again, but new and improved with far more panic, “Mommmm! Come in the bathroom, this is very bad, it’s horrible, you have to come now!” and I bounce up and out to find the bathroom flooded with an inch of water on the floor and a kid’s spray zone of unknown origin coming from under the sink. There is water literally cascading all over me, the floor and pretty much anywhere with a surface.

A mere twenty seconds left until the Bus Clock runs out and I urge the kid to skedaddle out of there before he ends up soaked and I end up having to make the thirty minute commute to get him to school. I turn off the main shut off valve under the sink and silently say a “Thank you” for the pile of towels I hadn’t yet got around to washing that would now be used to mop up the bathroom floor.

The flood contained, my coffee made, my shower just finished and my small breakfast cooking I hear my alarm go off.

I smirk to myself.

That’ll teach me.


Creative Commons License Sophia With Her Cover by audreyjm529 is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.


Facebook Comments


1 Comment on The Eight O’Clock Alarm

  1. I take advantage of nubian heritage soap also. I appreciate you expressing your ideas, loved the article!

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.