We rolled in last night around 12:30ish maybe. It's unclear. I "fell asleep" on the couch soon thereafter and woke up there at 5am, at which point I went to bed. I slept in a bed that was unmade because I stripped it to wash the sheets yesterday and never put it back together before we went out. I put down the flat sheet and grabbed the afghan and the pillowcase-less pillow and slept for one whole hour before my child was up.
6am is pretty late for him, so I really should be thankful. However, 5 hours of sleep without the involvement of alcohol doesn't cut it. You can imagine how my margarita and beer infused slumber therefore did nothing for me. And since I was up until 11pm on Friday and 1am on Wednesday reading and writing, an intelligent person would have stayed in and slept on Saturday. But I've gotten off track here. The point is I'm kind of tired.
Nathan always wants breakfast as soon as he gets up, which is fine. Today he had a bowl of cereal and then he wanted toast. In between fetching him food and juice and a napkin and a show to watch and this and that AND fighting with my stomach, I did eventually get to sit down with a cup of tea to attempt to be able to function. When he finished breakfast he set to work on constructing some sort of Lego tower.
After some time I was finally awake and gastrointestinally strong enough to attempt breakfast for myself and the kid was busy so I figured I could do this.
Nathan: Are you going to go eat your breakfast now?
Nathan: Oh, because I'm hungry.
Me: Of course you are.
And I say of course because every Sunday morning for the last several years, this child has become hungry the exact moment it has been declared that I was going to go make myself something to eat.
Me: What do you want?
Nathan: Can I have that fortune cookie I saw in the kitchen?
Me: No, it's not even 9 o'clock in the morning.
Nathan: Whinewhinewhine (I actually don't know what he said. Something about how he waaaaaaanted it so baaaaaaaadly.)
Me: You can have fruit or yogurt or more cereal or a cereal bar.
Nathan: I don't want anything, I'm not hungry.
Me: Are you sure? Because once I start eating you'll have to wait, so if you want something please tell me now.
Nathan: I'm sure.
Me: OK. I'm going to make my breakfast now. Go play.
And no sooner did I hit start on the microwave to make the mini-pancakes I've been dying for but didn't eat because I was dieting, did the child reappear crying that he "haven't aten anything in SOOOO long." After correcting his grammar, I asked him what he wanted and since he still couldn't tell me I told him again he had to wait. More tears. More complaining about how I don't ever feed him. He needed a MEAL and demanded to know why I wouldn't just get something for him.
5 year olds are not rational creatures.
Nathan: (having spied my pancakes) Are you going to eat pancakes?
Me: Yes. Do you want pancakes?
Nathan: No. I wanted that fortune cookie but you won't give it to me.
Me: That's right. Tell me now what you want or else you will have to wait until I'm done because my food is ready and I'm about to eat. What do you want?
Nathan sat on the floor and began spinning on his butt as if nothing from the last 5 minutes happened.
So I sat down to eat. Suddenly a small boy appeared to my right.
Nathan: I'm going to sit next to you.
Nathan: Are those pancakes?
Me: Yes. (You can see where this is going right?)
A pause, and then...
Nathan: Can I have some of your pancakes? I'm hungry.
I gave him a bite. Then he requested his own plate. I made them, he ate them, then he asked for more. He ate half of the second batch and told me they smell weird like salt (?) and he couldn't eat them. Also he wasn't hungry.
Every. Single. Week.
Thanks for reading! If you find me at all amusing, please consider following this blog. You can also share it with your friends on Facebook and Twitter. There are icons for that around here somewhere...
But wait, there's more!