Remember how much we used to love Saturday mornings? As kids we loved it because it meant no school and like 5 straight hours of cartoons in the morning. As adults it usually means a break from the weekly 8-5, and you finally get to sleep in and not have anywhere to be.
Then you have kids.
I hate Saturday mornings. They have quickly become my own version of Monday. Less hectic mind you since I don’t have to hurry 3 kids out the door, but far from that ideal bliss of sleeping till 9am. See hubby and I have this worked out where he gets to sleep in on Saturday and I take Sunday. Which would be fabulous if they didn’t insist on waking up before dawn on Saturdays. At 5:45 this morning I hear Brendan stumbling around and calling me. “Mommy, me up!”. No! No I say! Its not even light out yet! “Yes mommy up! Tartoons! Juice! Me up!” So very grudgingly I get out of bed, swearing next week I am going to spike his dinnertime juice with 12 hour cough medicine or benadryl or something.
No one should have to hate Saturday mornings.