I chose to ignore the exasperated sigh. My husband does not take too kindly to my being in bed when he leaves for work. Despite all his modern beliefs about gender equality and the value of a two-family income, deep down (although he will probably never admit it) he's an old-fashioned man-- the type who expects his wife to be smiling at his bedside with a glass of Orange Juice- fully dressed and made-up by the time he opens his eyes. While he showers, I should be ironing his shirt. I should leave him at the door with a good-bye kiss, and have his dinner ready and the house clean by the time he walks in the front door-- still beautifully dressed and made-up. He'd probably even prefer the perfectly curled hair and dresses of the iconic 60's, especially if I matched them with a pair of platform shoes. And he prefer I made some extra money in between his departure and return.
But that's not what he got. Oh, I do iron his shirts on occasion, but I can't ever quite get them as stiff as the dry-cleaners, so why disappoint us both? And me being up and dressed before him has only ever happened one time-- the morning I went into labor with Kolbie. But I do normally have dinner ready by the time he gets home from work, and the house is usually somewhat clean-ish. So, one and a half out of four isn't bad, in my opinion. And I'm always happy to kiss him back (morning breath be darned!) if he comes to my side of the bed to say goodbye before he leaves for work-- and removes the pillow from over my head. And the blankets. And ignores the "don't wake me up yet!!!!" that normally comes from me around that time.
But as to our summer-break phenomenon? He's right. By 7:15, at the latest, these last two mornings, I've had wide-awake, dressed, and fed children-- children that I normally need to yell at at least four times in order to get them to the same status by 9:04 when the bus comes on a school morning. Children that moan and groan about going to bed at 8:30 on a school night and still can't be pulled from a dead sleep twelve hours later. Children who, for the last two nights, have been allowed to stay up late (no, Kayton and Mason, summer time does not mean you don't have a bedtime, it's just that I'm more flexible with it), and yet have been getting up remarkably early. It figures.
I guess Summer Break isn't about the parents- and now I know what my Mom went through. And while I'm not thrilled with this change in my children, I have to admit, it's not going to affect me all that much. On Monday morning when they are up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at 6:59, I'm still going to be in bed, head under the pillow. Hey, my husband's up already. Let him deal with them. I'll take back over in two months when I have to fight with them to get out of bed at 8:25 to catch the school bus.