Morning Chickens,

I know some of you are still sleeping soundly under your soft comfy duvet.  Me, I’ve been up since around 6am.  I know, I know, it’s Saturday!  Unfortunately Belles, Ashtie and Buttons aren’t yet aware of weekend protocols.

Having small children is like hanging a big flashing neon sign on your door that says


Sometimes I get lulled into a false sense of security.  Just after Christmas and before Day light savings, Ashtie got into a wonderful pattern of sleeping till around 8am.  It was glorious!  Some mornings I would even be up BEFORE him.  Belle’s and I could munch on our toast and watch a bit of High Five before the Ashtie-monster would appear, demanding bunches of bananas.

Then one weekend I lay in bed and I made the mistake of thinking about it.  Wow, I thought, as the sun streamed through the curtains, blinding me for a moment, I’m loving how well Ashtie is sleeping at the moment.  Okay, I probably said this out loud.  Even worse.

Murphy of course, knows his job upside down and back the front, and he’s got a whole law to follow if he forgets.  So rather than let me continue in this bubble of gentle day beginnings, I am now starting my days in an entirely different way.

First up, Ashtie has decided that if he wakes up at 3am or 4am, then the day has begun.  He’ll stomp noisily through the house and demand to know why it’s not morning.  We usually just snuggle him down with us for the next couple of hours till it’s a decent time.  However this week he brought it back to 1am, so I sent him back to his bed, praising myself on my strength and determination.  His room is at the other end of the house and I am incredibly lazy in the middle of the night, so will often let them stay with me because I don’t want to leave my warm bed and walk them back to their room.  It’s cold.  But I was strong, I ignored my goose bumps and settled him into bed.

He came back.  Of course.

I told him to get his wee bottom back into his bed.  But he found this most disagreeable, and instead of going to his own room, he went into his big sisters room, woke her up, and told her all about the terrible plight of the boy who wanted it to be morning already, and his terrible mother who sent him back to bed.

So Belle’s appeared looking dazed and confused, and I had both of them up, and while I was in settling Belle’s back to sleep, the little lad gave up and climbed into his bed and went back to sleep.  He’d passed the torch on to his sister, who then appeared in our room half an hour later, feeling most worried about a crunching noise she had heard.  I used my secret husband weapon, elbowing him out of his peaceful slumber.  “Your turn!”  I said, and attempted at least a wee bit more sleep before the birds started chirping.

 You’ll be pleased to know that the little lad is not averse to a little bribery, so before bed last night I promised him snake lollies and a sticker on his chart if he stayed in his own bed.

It worked!

So we all slept though the night, alas, Murphy isn’t one to overlook an opportunity, so this morning, rather than being woken gently by the sun rising over the Eastern Hills, sometime around 6am, Belles arrived.  Of course the kitten came with her.  She turned on all the lights, “Whaaaat, I need to go to the toilet,” Button’s pranced and pounced all over the duvet, purring her good morning, then climbed under the duvet and played catch and release with my toes.

So I got up.  I made toast and Milo, peeled bananas, provided the right colour straws, negotiated the television watching – Handy Manny, then Scoobie Doo, turned off half the lights in the house, and finally sat down with my cup of tea,

ahhh, equilibrium restored.