Screw you, daylight savings time.
5:30. In the AM. Morning.
At 5:30 all I hear from the kitchen is this little voice saying, "Soap," giggle, "Soap". It takes me a while to realize it's not a dream about soap, it is my son, eating my fancy co-op soap.
Mmmmm soap for breakfast. (Is that okay? I know it's organic ingredients. I consider this for a minute... thinking it would allow me to stay in bed for another fifteen minutes.)
But he's so achingly cute. I told him that it was too early to get out of his room and play, but he could play in his room until it was time. Before I left, I asked, "Would you like to be under your covers, where it is warm and cozy? Or play?" There he is, leaning against his bed like some toddler James Dean, train on one hand and red monkey in the other.
Liam paused, and replied, "Play."
And that was that. And that was an hour ago.
Screw you, dalylight savings time.