I yelled today. It was loud yelling with sarcasm. My hair was defying gravity while the bags under my eyes were headed to Mexico.
I was probably a terrifying sight.
Remember the whole night shaft thing? Where I go to work at an unholy hour and return at a demonic one? Yeah. And remember how I have a small boy and a deaf spouse? Yeah.
You can probably see where this is going.
At nine this morning, after roughly five hours of sleep, I hear feet. They sound like small feet, and they are moving very quickly. They come close to where I am drooling into my pillow, with one eye glaring blurrily at the clock, which is quietly mocking me.
"BAH! MAMA! UP!"
More feet, large and somewhat slower this time.
"JUNIOR, NO! MAMA'S TRYING TO SLEEP! WE HAVE TO BE QUIET!"
All of the feet retreat. They seem to be having a clog dancing contest on the way. They get as far as the boxes of toys stacked in the next room. All of the toys have off switches, but none of these switches is in use. The on buttons, however, are in fine form.
"PUSH A BUTTON! I'M THE ELEPHANT! INSERT A CARD! TWO APPLES!"
I chastise myself for having hostile thoughts about my family and burrow further under the covers. The large feet stomp over to the pile of toys.
"MAMA'S TRYING TO SLEEP! LET'S GO INTO THE OTHER ROOM!"
A complicated tap-dance routine ensues as the feet make their escape into the kitchen, a whole two rooms away. I hear pans clanging in the sink as Himself washes dishes. Junior contents himself with simply slinging concrete blocks against the walls. It sounds that way, anyhow.
After several minutes of crashing and banging, the clog dancers return for a command performance. Throwing their all into the routine, they attempt to crack the very foundations of the house while overthrowing every box within reach. The chorus is in full voice.
"NAH NAH NAH! DADA! AH HAH HAH!"
"JUNIOR, STOP! MAMA IS STILL TRYING TO SLEEP!"
No, she's not. Mama slings back the covers and appears in the doorway in full-on Moses On the Mount mode. Hair weaves into the air like wrathful snakes. Eyes blaze, shooting fire at the noisemaking heathens. The heathens freeze.
"WHAT MAKES YOU SAY THAT?! I'M NOT MAD AT ALL! I ALWAYS LOOK LIKE THIS AFTER A PEACEFUL NIGHT'S SLEEP!"
I dress and gather my column-writing supplies, casting dirty looks over my shoulder. After kisses, I take my leave.
"OKAY, I'M GOING TO THE COFFEESHOP NOW! I'LL BE BACK SOON!"
Just wait until tomorrow morning, when I return from work. I have a brand-new CD of John Phillip Sousa marches, and a high-tech PA system...