"Sometimes I wake up grumpy, and sometimes I let him sleep."

This morning I should have let him sleep. I anticipated having problems getting my children out of bed when they hit puberty, but I didn't know it would start at four! Mr. Tired came downstairs for breakfast in a whiny mood, dressed in his lint-free navy pants, and proceeded to roll around on the floor (the cat-fur-covered floor) lamenting his lack of sleep and asking whether he had time to play. (Please note he resisted bedtime last night with little regard for our reminders that he would be tired this morning if he didn't go to sleep.) I explained that had he gotten up at the time I asked him to (almost 30 minutes earlier) he would have had time to play, but since he'd chosen to take his time getting up, the playtime window had been closed and it was now time to eat breakfast. "You're mean," he said. Mean, huh? Mean mothers must get up after little sleep themselves (yes, less than you got, dear) to make breakfast for you . . . take the time to chop up the extra veggies you like in your eggs, make sure the fruit options are acceptable for your fruit-picky self, slowly reheat your chocolate sprinkle doughnut in its own oven so it gets warm without melting the sprinkles. "I am not your son anymore," he added. Well, that's a relief. That means I can throw out the carefully crafted lunch I just made . . . yogurt with a separate container of granola so you can sprinkle it like you like to, the exact combination of veggies you requested, lovingly put in a special lunchbox I picked out just for you, all while my own breakfast is getting cold. Phhhhhhtttttt. Suddenly I'm feeling a very deep connection to Bill Cosby, "I brought you into this world, and I can take you OUT!" Pray for me . . . and go ahead and put me on your prayer list for the next 20 years or so . . .