WAKE UP!

Sometimes I wonder if families living in big houses get to sleep in. Because at our place, when one person wakes up, we ALL wake up.

At some point between 5:55 and 6:45 a.m., a door will pop open, a bathroom light/fan will turn on and little footsteps make their way to the crayons, paper and scissors in the living room. On especially terrible mornings, we'll wake up to phrases like "No!" "That's mine!" and "I'm telling!"

Soon after, Matt and I will play an unspoken game of chicken to see who can stay in bed the longest, though I almost always win because he doesn't realize that I have my Dad's genes and his nickname is Huevos de Oro. Which, loosely and nicely translated, means lazy.

It's always been like this at our house. I know there are families who do this thing where one parent sleeps in on Saturday and the other on Sunday, but we never found a way to make that work. I don't like it, but I'm used to it.

Except this morning, when I wanted more than anything to stay in bed and feel sorry for myself. I began to fantasize about the brown house down the street. I drive by it everyday. It looks like Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hillfiger lives in it: all-American wood with white trim, balconies, three floors.

I'm sure that when someone in that house wakes up, nobody hears anything. And it must be luxurious.

Usually at this point I'd wrap up the post by saying something heartwarming about people in big houses missing out on the pitter patter of little feet. But screw it, I really love sleeping.