"I Don't Like Mondays ..."

While my today was not a Monday like the one sung of by The Boomtown Rats (or, much later, covered by Tori Amos for, probably my favorite show of all time, The West Wing), it still has been a pretty sucky Monday.

Princess is not a morning person. She comes by that pretty naturally. She also happens to be the S-L-O-W-E-S-T eater on the planet. These two things, in combination, provide their very own brand of hell every morning. Every. Friggin. Morning. I say the words, "Eat your breakfast" 200 times a morning. Easily.

Hubby and I have pulled out all the stops from our collective bag 'o tricks, and some mornings we prevail, while others, like today, are just maddening.

It's an unpleasant way to start a day, or a week. And, after timers were set, and naps were doled out for two days, finally - FINALLY - breakfasts were consumed, teeth were brushed, butts were dressed, and kids were off to school.

Whew.

Fast forward to noon(ish), as Princess steps off the bus:

ME: Hi sweetie, how was your day at school?

HER (whining already and walking in the opposite direction of the house): I don't want to take a nap.

ME: We're not discussing this. We need to go get your brother at preschool.

She spent the whole ride there complaining that she wanted her boots off, she didn't want to take a nap, the lunch options I offered up were inadequate, and, and, and ....

Upon arrival at Little Man's preschool, I entered to pick up my happy child, who LOVES school and his teacher , and generally has a cheery (albeit at entirely too early an hour) morning routine.

TEACHER: Did he not get much sleep last night?

ME: Uh oh. Why? What happened?

TEACHER: Well, he was a complete handful today! He was difficult getting dressed to go outside, undressed back inside, he missed circle time because he wouldn't clean up his toys, and he was "sassy" all morning.

ME: Swell. And, I am so sorry. He and his sister have had some attitude issues of late.

TEACHER: Oh, good. So it's not just me - that makes me feel better.

That makes one of us.

Back at the ranch, after Little Man spent the ride home taking swings at his sister, he was placed in bed for his nap immediately.

And, as you'd expect, he was less than thrilled with that development.

Princess ate her lunch and understood that a nap was in her future. She actually went in quite willingly once lunch was over, and seemed to truly understand that she was not to get out of bed unless she had to use the bathroom.

Her first appearance was to announce that she had to go potty.

Fine.

Her next appearance was to ask if I could fix her cd player because it was playing the same Dora song over and over (I obliged mostly because the song was driving me batshit crazy, too). She was also reminded that she was not supposed to be getting out of bed.

She emerged once more, this time asking for kleenex (she's good, yes?). I gave her a box and then very clearly and deliberately said the following to her: I mean it, do not get out of that bed again unless you are bleeding or have to go potty. And I don't mean, picked your fingernail, or a scab and are bleeding a little, I mean FLOWING blood that requires stitches. Got it?

She nodded.

I then added this: If you get out of bed for any reason other than those I just stated, you will not get to go to hockey on Saturday. Do you understand me?

She nodded again, but this time, I made her repeat the consequences.

Ten minutes later she emerged yet again, asking for a piece of gum.

Seriously.

So, it's a little after 4pm on Monday, and already two naps have been doled out for the week, and half the hockey privileges have been revoked. Luckily, there's an open bottle of Amarone and my wine glasses are clean.

Giddy. Up.