Good Morning, Merry Sunshine!

Mornings should be cancelled. I'm firmly convinced of this--no good can possibly come from stumbling out of bed in the dark each day. There ought to be a law against it...

It would appear that I am joined in this conviction by a certain son of mine. He's 7 and he's a night owl like his Momma. He just spent the summer staying up late and sleeping even later. He likes it that way. Yes, he's definitely my child...

Unfortunately, school has now begun and so reality has just squashed him like a bug on the windshield. He has to go to bed early and struggles to turn off his lively little brain and go to sleep at a decent hour. And then the most awful thing happens: he has to get UP early in the morning, and struggles to turn his now not-so-lively brain back on.

In his defense, our summer travels didn't get us home in much time to work gradually back into our school year schedule. His mother has bemoaned this very fact herself many mornings at 6:45 when her alarm begins to sound and she begins to pray for the Second Coming... (She also wishes she had not given up coffee and is quite certain that this development will need to be reconsidered when the weather turns cold...)

Connor is still adjusting and has trailed rather blearily through each and every school morning thus far, with a tired and woefully uncaffeinated mother dutifully bringing him breakfast in bed and then grousing at him to actually EAT it, dressing him and combing his hair and then handing him a toothbrush and reminding him what one does with that instrument.

Knowing that mornings aren't exactly the child's strong suit, I was a little worried when he announced that he needed an alarm clock of his own. I was pretty sure that I'd be getting plenty of exercise galloping in there to turn it off every day because he wasn't awake enough to remember how it worked.

My concerns increased when we stopped by Walmart and he spotted the alarm clock of his dreams. He fell head-over-heels in love with an old-fashioned silver alarm clock--you know, the kind with the bell thingies on top and the little hammer in the middle that promises you an audible reason for heart failure at a regular time each morning. I tried to discourage him from purchasing that one, but he was adamant--that was the one and only clock for him. Finally, my Mommy heart gave in and it followed us home.

With much dread, I set it a couple nights before school started, knowing full well I would regret it many times over in the morning. At 7 am, I would have you to know that I was NOT disappointed. That thing went off with all the racket of a 3 alarm fire and I went leaping from my bed, fearful that the entire tri-county area could hear it. (Well, at least the 3 year old in the next room and the old lady 3 houses up the street...) I rushed into his bedroom and found my poor little night owl--still half asleep--pinwheeling around in his bed! He was literally going in circles on his belly! I turned off the ungodly racket and when he was able to speak, he muttered, "I don't want to ever do that again." His mother was inclined to agree...

My joy faded that night when he announced that he had switched it on for the next morning. Sure enough, at 7 am, it began to screech and I jumped up again. Curiously, though, the sound suddenly faded just as I reached his room. When I rounded the corner, there was Connor, dazed and still half-asleep, clutching the little hammer in a death grip. "Make it stop," he growled. He had forgotten how to turn it off!

Thinking that I would rather be dipped in honey and staked to an anthill than go through that every morning, I decided that we would NOT be using the little silver instrument of torture on school mornings. Or any other mornings while I am still living.

I set my alarm for 6:45 so that I can get up and be dressed and somewhat alert by 7, when it's time to wake my favorite second grader. This sounds very sensible. In theory. Unfortunately, small boys who hate mornings know nothing about theory and they don't care either. Each morning, my whispered words (accompanied by breakfast in bed) are received with wailing and burrowing under the covers, distaste for whatever breakfast selection is offered (even if it was his favorite choice the night before) and general heartbreak at the very idea that he is actually expected to RISE, make up his bed and walk.

I cling to the hope that, with time, we'll settle into our routine and I won't have to pry his fingers off the bedposts every morning. Perhaps one day, he'll cast aside my polluted night owl genes and begin to spring cheerily from his nest, singing psalms and reciting Scripture. But in the meantime, does anyone have a crowbar I can borrow? Morning cometh...