In all the time the boys have lived with me, they have never permitted me an uninterupted nights' sleep. The method of torture has changed over the years, but the effect is the same. When they were younger, we endured nights of crib-escaping, then midnight refridgerator raids and late-night-wee-hour rampages. In recent years, the modus operandi is a loud frat party in Hart's room at around 5 am, followed by simultaneous bellowing and running around the house.
An exhaustive (no pun!) number of techniques have failed. When the din gets unbearable, I simply drag myself out of bed, round up the partyers and escort them back to their respective bedrooms. I can close my eyes for about ten more minutes, which is about the time it takes until the next break-out. Once we are within 15 minutes of my clock radio alarm, not that I need one, I just rouse myself and start the day.
This past week introduced an interesting twist. The morning rumpus schedule is unchanged, but since Jeff does not have school, he can return to bed for an hour or two once Hart leaves for summer school, and then be up for some more fun when Hart gets home at lunchtime.
This morning as I was blearily fixing breakfast, I said to Hart, "You know, if you ever want to give me a present, you could let me sleep until it is actually time to get up."
His reply: I never thought of that.