Getting Going

In the morning, laying in bed, I am not yet a dean.  And, on this first day of spring break, I am very motivated to delay the moment of putting on my dean skin and facing the world.

My husband cheerfully offered last night to get up with the kids and direct them to the bus stop by 7:48am.  So I do not set my alarm.  Sleeping in will be bliss!  However, the temptation is too great for God and he sends my 11-year-old son into our room, shouting with surprising gusto and authority, that IT'S 7:50 AND YOU NEED TO DRIVE US TO SCHOOL!!!!!  The dim grey light seeping through my ratty blinds and into my eyeballs suggests that he is incorrect.  By at least an hour.  My clock confirms that it is 6:50.  He insists EVERY CLOCK in the WHOLE HOUSE says IT'S 7:50 and WE HAVE TO GO!!!  I am awake. The hibernating circadas are awake.  God is laughing.  Fine. 

My wonderful husband gets up to calm the panicked pups and I decide to go back to sleep.  But cannot.  I agree to myself that I will read just one story in Dave Barry's Greatest Hits book. Only one.  But it's so funny that I cannot stop at one.  I read 5.  10.  More.  I am snorting and crying and gasping for breath.  I pause to rest.  And fall asleep.  God, thinking this is SO FUN, sends the very loud voice of my 15-year-old son into the air: OLD GUY - PICK UP THE PHONE!  My husband's cell phone, bedside, is "ringing" with the pre-recorded voice he keeps forgetting to change.  After 6 rings, my room returns to silence.  Until the cordless phone on the dresser rings for help. 

Enough already. It's time to shower.  Yesterday, in an impulsive move that has taken months to get off various ignored to-do lists, I decided to finally get our padded lawn chair off the roof.  I was nearly ready for my shower, and just before shedding my last bits of dignity, I opened the bathroom window, lunged half-way through, grabbed the chair, and wrestled it back through the window, shaking off chunks of ice from the seat.  Post-shower, I put it in the tub to dry.  Now this morning, I remove the chair to the floor, and a seatful of icy water sluices down my legs. Not so dry after all. I towel off the floor, then try to fold the chair to get it out of the way.  Another gallon pours onto the floor. I think I hear God snorting.