 "Mom, what's your
favorite prehistoric animal?""Oh, no."
"What?"
"Nothing. My favorite prehistoric animal, huh?" I asked,
squinting in the light and racking my brain for an answer. Wake up,
Laura!
"Yeah, and it can't be a human," he said.
"Well, that does narrow it down doesn't it?" I mumbled.
"Yes, but I'm talking about B.H. -- Before Humans."
"Hmm. I don't know. How about something fuzzy like my vision
right now? Was there anything fuzzy in Pre-hysteria?"
"The only fuzzy things around back then were rodents," he said.
"Oh, geez. It'll be a cold day in he ... uh, Helsinki ... when a
rodent becomes my favorite animal. What are my other choices?"
"Well, do you like carnivores or herbivores?"
"Hmm..." I said, struggling to focus, "I've never been to a
herbival before, so I guess I like carnivals the best."
"Not carnivals; carnivores! Meat-eaters, Mom!"
"And here I thought we were talking about cotton candy eaters."
"Mom..."
"OK, OK. But you should know better than to ask me an
intellectual question before it's morning."
"It is morning!"
"Try telling my brain that. ... No, don't bother. It's still
sleeping."
[to top of second column]
 |
 I want to know what I did in a past life to deserve a family full
of morning people when I'm clearly not even a person before noon.
Was I one of those people who think babies are ugly? Did I let old
ladies cross the street by themselves and bet on their chances of
making it? Was I a mobile bird-flipper? You know, one of those
people who drive with their middle finger. What did I do?
People who have children should automatically be given the
ability to wake up cheerful, cognizant and witty no matter how early
the darn alarm goes off. That way I could not only name my favorite
prehistoric animal, but I could also have an eloquent discussion on
the correlation between a supernova and a black hole and solve
quadratic equations without the use of a calculator.
But no, all my children sound like little Einsteins to my
sleep-deprived brain, and to them, I probably sound like a stoned
retard.
I had to cut my daughter's hair because every morning when I
tried to fix her limp tresses into some semblance of tweeny
perfection, it looked like her head had been wallowing around in the
dryer with a wool blanket. Braids looked like boondoggle done by a
first-grader, and barrettes fell out before she arrived at school. I
had even bought an assortment of sparkly, colorful headbands that I
thought I couldn't screw up. But she always came home from school
wearing them like a gay Rambo: on her forehead. So... we cut her
hair in a short bob so she can take care of it herself.
Oh, the sacrifices my kids have to make just because their mom is
not a morning person.
The only way I can make up for being so deficient at a time when
they are functioning at full capacity is to make sure there are
plenty of cookies in the house. Most kids would forgive anything for
a hug and a cookie.
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist, author and
speaker. You can reach her at lsnyder@lauraonlife.com or visit
www.lauraonlife.com for more info.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info. |
