Dear 4:45 am

Dear 4:45 am,

   I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but we are not friends.  I feel like maybe you think that we are, and I'm not sure where you got this idea, but it very very false.  I'm fairly sure that we were never friends to begin with, and I certainly have never made any effort on my part to cultivate a friendship.  What we had going there for a little while was great, (mainly I slept blissfully right through you), and I'm not sure why you would want to ruin such a beautiful thing.  Can we pretty pretty please go back to those days? 


 This morning was not pretty... and I'm sure nobody wants to repeat that.  I was having a perfectly good dream about being chosen to attend a special wizarding school taught by that guy who plays Gimley (this may be the result of watching an episode of Sliders and Adam playing Lego Harry Potter into the wee hours of the night -cause that's how we roll people!)  when all of a sudden the box of chocolates I was about to devour like a rabid wolverine, started to sound a lot like a certain screaming two year old- (which was obviously confusing to me) and when I woke up I was halfway to Peanut's room to make it stop ( does anyone else have that sleepwalking problem?)  I'm not sure why she felt the need to scream at the top of her lungs but I managed to make it stop.... for 15 whole minutes! That scene was then repeated twice more, before my well-intentioned husband decided to give it a try.  Unfortunately, he is not at his best at 5:15 either. Who knew? 
    He of course, being much more susceptible to the pleas of said screaming two year old attempts to get her up. Whereas mommy is like "Get back to bed you little gremlin, you get up when I say you get up because you're two years old and mommy only got three hours of sleep last night! And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay in that bed and think about how lucky you are to have such a fantastic, beautiful and talented mother" Suffice it to say that did not go well either, and ended with me putting her back into bed screaming at the top of her lungs and pummeling me with all her might.  (consistent parenting- epic fail)  But twenty minutes later, she was calling and cooing in a much pleasanter voice, and since I was wide awake at that point, we got up at the ripe old time of 6:15. 


By about 6:30 I was ready for coffee, but of course wasn't actually able to get out of the apartment till about 8:30.   That did not go so well either.  I will spare you details, but it ended with me in thoroughly coffee soaked, mud caked jeans eating part of the world's soggiest donut and muttering unpleasant things about a car that almost ran us over. 


I can't help but feel that this day would have gone two million times better if I was allowed to sleep in until a decent hour (like how about noon?)

Side note:  Emma keeps saying "Oh no, Daddy tooted at work!" and giggling hysterically and then running away..she may be a pain in the tookus but she does keep me laughing!


So for my birthday this year (which is in two days!) I am asking  Santa Clause for the gift of sleep. Eight hours a night is all I ask.  I go to bed at 10:00 for Pete's sake! It doesn't seem a lot to ask! 


Ok, I'm done. Rant over.  Thanks for  listening, or at least skimming to the end to see if  I've posted any cute pictures.  I haven't.  Sorry.   We've only got one pair of rechargeable batteries and they have been in our Wii remotes  for the last week because mommy may or may not have developed an addiction to Just Dance 2 and may or may not be so sore from "shaking it" that it hurts to lift this cup of coffee to my mouth.  Yay for straws!