Weekday mornings

If it were up to me, I'd sleep until about 7:30 every morning. But it's not up to me. For the past four and a half years, it's been up to Grant! Every now and then he sleeps a tad later, but most days he's up around 6:30 and promptly at my bedside. When he's smart, he wakes me with kisses and hugs. But more often than not I'm greeted with a cheery, "Let's go make miiiiilk!" or sometimes, "I slept til my blue light went off" or even the daunting, "Mom, can I call you when I'm done pooping?" Ah, motherhood.

We creep downstairs so we don't wake Hope up, and make our milk and coffee. Around 7 o'clock Hope will stumble in, bleary eyed and wanting to cuddle. If we're not playing with toys in the basement, then we're on a pile on the couch watching cartoons (likely Wild Kratts, Curious George, or Strawberry Shortcake).
They are both pretty big for my lap nowadays, but that's where they both want to be. We end up in a tangle of arms and legs, trying to keep everyone on my lap and under the blanket. Occasionally they argue over the arrangements, but usually it's a sweet, still, relatively calm time.

I'm happy that Hope doesn't have to leave for school until almost 9, so we can have slow mornings. Even though I'd love to sleep in a little longer, I cherish these mornings. I know this is another piece of the White Bread Days that will be gone before I know it.