Year of writing 218. Crazy mornings.

8/6/12

Mornings are my least favorite time of the day.  They always have been - I take about 2 hours to wake up completely, and am pretty much a jerk during the interim.  Nothing makes sense to me, my coordination is all off, and I have a short temper.  I basically age 40 years every time I wake up, then gradually get less curmudgeonly during the day.  Now being as my kids have been living with me their entire short lives, they tend to understand the way I am, and give me adequate space.  Most of the time. 

This morning I woke up to the power being out.  "Holy Mother of God," I thought to myself, although fairly unreligious.  "How the eff am I going to do this without coffee this morning?"
I should insert here that my baby boy got sick last night with a fever, and is super unhappy with everything that isn't a boob.  I contemplated chewing on some coffee beans, or siphoning the dregs of Tegan's Coke zero bottle in the recycle bin as Isla walked into the kitchen.
"Daddy.  Daddy.  Daddy.  DADDY!"
"what - my brain doesn't work very well right now baby, what do you need?"
"I want a waffle."
"Sorry sweetie, the power's out, I can get you some yogurt or cereal if..."
"WAFFLE!  I WANT A WAFFLE!"  She sounded like Zuul from Ghostbusters as she wailed in her Minnie Mouse underwear."
"There is NO POWER. The toaster DOES NOT WORK right now Isla, I can't make you a waffle."
 At this point, Isla began screaming as loud as she could, which was immediately mimicked by Miles, who had just been completely happy putting his snot all over a watermelon.  The only thing I could think of to do is send a complaint text to my wife Tegan to let her know how crappy my morning was. In true problem-solving fashion, she suggested I go to a coffee shop and get Isla a muffin or something, to which my horrible four year old was extremely amenable.  So we went - out into the 99 degree weather at 9:15 AM.
Fast forward to back at home, AC on, cinnamon roll in Isla's hot little hand, Miles with yogurt in his tummy, I put my newfound coffee on the coffee table where it belongs, and go to the bathroom.  At this point I hear a loud THUMP followed by: "sorry daddy, I'm sorry!"
To make the story short, Isla had decided to play with a broom while I peed, because that makes sense, then knocked my entire coffee onto the carpet. 
So, to recap - I have no coffee in my system, I'm already a jerk because it's still morning, and now I have to spend the next 45 minutes trying to avoid the inevitable stain on the carpet from a capsized mocha.  Somebody punch me in the neck fast.