“Mom!”
I roll over in my bed, pretending I didn’t hear it.
After a few seconds, it comes again, a little louder. “MOM!”
I grunt something unintelligible that no one but I could hear or understand but don’t actually move.
“MO-O-O-O-O-O-O-OM!!!”
I bolt upright in my bed, not nearly conscious enough to acknowledge my own name, but awake enough to know my 6-year-old had something that needed to be said. In what I call my “Glass-half-drunken-sailor-walk,” I traipse over to his room and in the cheeriest voice I can muster I say “Yes, my love?”
He cheerily responds “It’s morning. Good morning, mommy.”
I glance over at the clock in the corner of the nearly dark room and see a digital 6:13 laughing at me in red. I quickly realize that telling a 6-year-old that 6:13 a.m. on a Saturday does not constitute morning would be fruitless. Besides, the smile on his face is contagious. He leaps off his top bunk bed into my arms with such enthusiasm and a fantastic kiss on my cheek that suddenly it is indeed a glorious morning.
My little 4-year-old peanut on the bottom bunk suddenly perks up and also announces “Good morning, mommy.”
“Good morning, baby boys,” I smile at both of them.
“Mommy, do I have school today?” asks the 6-year-old.
“Nope. It’s Saturday,” I wink.
Both boys clap in glee and blurt out “It’s the weekend!” They suddenly grab my hands and each other’s hands and start singing a silly song -“Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-daaaaaa” and spinning around the room with me. I burst out laughing, as do they. We sang and spun around for a minute or two till we crashed and collapsed on the ground, laughing and grabbing our sides.
It’s the weekend indeed! And Saturday, you make me feel like dancing!