For all the complicated matters of life, there are two distinct groups of people. Both of these live under the little roof of our home. What you are about to read is a true story.
The facts are that once a week, I am forced to rise early, before the sun rises, when the world is still dark. I am forced to wake up to the hideous sound of an alarm clock rather than the noise of silly children in the next room. And that sound is an assault to my mind, body, and spirit. Clearly the inventor of alarm clocks was a mean, hateful person.
It was on this morning, on the third of October in the year 2012, that I had to drive my husband to work so we could have the car for the day. He goes to work very early, hours before the world should be alive and moving. I had to wake up at 6:00 AM. I know, I know, awful. I will accept sympathy gifts of coffee.
When it was time, I opened the door and stepped into the room where not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse (THANK GOD!) and in that darkness slept two little ones. And a moment at the turn of the handle, at the burst of light, she quickly stumbled to her feet and shouted, “Daddy?” It is a wonderful morning in her opinion, when she sees her daddy first thing. I lifted her from the confines of her bed and she barreled down the hall into the blinding light, “daddy! daddy! daddy!” The other child did not flinch. No eyes opened, no response to the assaulting light or noise.
I sat down gently on his bed and rubbed his back, saying softly as all morning actions should be, “Hudson, it’s time to wake up.” He moaned and turned to the other side, scrunching his face, eyes still closed.
And from the other room, the horror of all horrors, that husband, he started singing!!! The horror was not in fact his voice, but that he was using his voice in such a loud, rambunctious way at such an hour. I mean, of all the inconsiderate things to do, singing in the morning, unthinkable.
He walked into the room with a talking baby girl in his arms and a song on his mouth. My son, he looked up at me and crawled into my arms, his head flopped down.
The rest continues below:
Matt: Good morning, good morning, you slept the whole night through…
Me: Stop, why would you do such a thing?
Matt: It’s our job to wake our kids up in an obnoxious manner.
Me: No, no, it is not. It is our job to protect our children from terrible things. No one wants to wake up to singing. You guys are noisy.
He just laughed and then walked away with the small, loud one into the blinding light from the kitchen. I stroked the little boy’s head still nestled in my arms and said, ‘I’m sorry they are so loud, I’m sorry they don’t understand us.” He let out a giant sigh, eyes not yet opened. He was glad to know he wasn’t alone in this. We didn’t move until it was absolutely necessary.
The moral of this story is clear. The protagonists and antagonists are obvious. The tragedy is real and it has been happening for ages and worst of all, it’s happening in my own home.
Let’s make the world a better place, people.