There is an unspoken rule in my house that requires me to physically drag my children out of bed in the morning after the alarm clock goes off. I spend somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 minutes getting them up and out of zombie mode. They don’t lose the snail pace until we get to school where their friends perk them up like a double espresso.
There is another rule in my house that requires my children to wake up at the butt crack of dawn any time we have the luxury of an alarm clock free morning. The usual time of choice seems to be 5:30am which is a full two hours before I wake them up during the week. The birds aren’t even awake at that time – so the animal kingdom knows it’s too early to function but my children act like I haven’t fed them all week and are starving for breakfast. But not just any breakfast, it’s the weekend so they want things on the Eggs Benedict level … have we met?!?! I pour them a bowl of gourmet Cheerios while whispering sweet nothings to my coffee maker and calculating how many hours before I can feel my pillow again.
It’s those days in particular that I am grateful for the barcaloungers at the Raleigh Grande. Zzzzzzzzz…