Before I had kids, my wife and I got to sleep in every Saturday and Sunday.
We could get up whenever the hell we wanted.
We could laze around, read the paper, make breakfast, wander off at will.
Now, we don’t ever get to sleep in.
Instead, we are awakened every Saturday and Sunday morning at around 7:00 by a little girl who wanders in to our room, rubbing her eyes and dragging her blanket, asks to climb up into our bed with us, and then proceeds to giggle and wrestle and yell and bounce until we’ve been thoroughly awakened.
She beams with the possibility of the new day that she CANNOT WAIT to start, asking questions and telling stories and twitching about.
She practically vibrates with the excitement of the unknown day to come.
And you know what?
Compared to the wonder and joy and excitement that now ushers in our every morning, despite how much or how little we’ve slept the night before . . . sleeping in suddenly doesn’t look so good.