Saturday Morning on the Kitchen Floor


It isn’t even 8am and I’m up.  

No problem, I take no pleasure in waking up late on weekends especially if it means waking up after the kids are up and clunking around.

 Ideally I need at least an hour spent alone mulling over life, staring into space,  looking at the stars, feeding my fish, watering my plants while drinking coffee in order to be “the best Melissa” I can be (“civil”).

Strangely enough, Zack is up.
This early.  Two days before school starts.
A damn miracle ya’ll. A damn MIRACLE.

 Anyway, I hear him talking to the dog in the tone of voice one uses for puppies and toddlers (the good toddlers, not the ones who head butt you etc), and I’m not proud of what I did next.

I sat down on the floor in the kitchen,  hugged my knees and hoped he didn’t know I was up because if he sees me he’s going to ask me to get him Chickfila breakfast, and I’m an hour away from wanting to think about leaving the house.

And yes, I could tell him no, or put him off for later, but if I talk to Zack the DOG will know I’m awake and then she will want to go out.

And I know, I just know that  and when I try to take her out she will back away from the leash and bark at me and run away from the door, hoping that I will give her peanut butter in her bone instead of making her go outside and get her dainty girl dog paws wet (the. Horror.)

At that point, I will throw my hands up and maybe growl or something especially if getting up and getting the leash means that I would move my coffee and lose it and have to retrace my steps.

So I’m sitting here on the kitchen floor,  hiding from my son and my dog, but I’m almost ready to get up because the coffee isn’t going to make itself.  

I stand up.  I make my coffee.

The noise and smell summons the dog. She isn’t a morning dog, and she’s never really THAT happy to see me, so we don’t have some wonderful hug fest. I try to take her out.  She refuses to go outside and instead brings me a bone, tosses it at my feet and barks at me.  I realize I can’t find my coffee. I find it.

Zack hears all this and comes out to say good morning.   
I admit I’d been hiding from him on the floor so he wouldn’t ask me for Chickfila for breakfast.

He asks for Chickfila breakfast.


I answer him with silence, taking three long three sips of coffee then I crack a little and tell him to ask me again in an hour.