In our house, the kids get up at 8.
If they wake up earlier, that is fine, but they get up at 8.
That is, unless we have a morning like today...
At quarter of 7, I was abruptly woken by Sterling shrilly screaming "help, help Momma hellllllllppppp" at the top of her lungs.
Nothing flips the "superhero" switch in a mom quite like the call for help from her child. With my heart pounding and my adrenaline racing, I leapt out of bed and rushed into her room... to find her sitting happily in the middle of the floor with her toys.
"Hi! Good morning Momma!" She chirped happily at me.
I stood disorientedly in the doorway a few moments, searching for intruders, copious amounts of blood or killer clowns. Nothing.
Finally I asked her "You OK, baby girl?"
She looked at me, a wide smile on her face. "Help Momma, Dolly's arm is hurt."
Which is great and all except for two things:
1. There was no doll in the room.
2. Her theatrics woke Bennett up.
I put her back in bed, went to soothe Bennett, and had just settled back in bed again when she started to screech for help. Again.
I silently contemplated ignoring it for all of .01 seconds, and then I went back to investigate knowing that if I ignored it, it would be a real emergency.
She had climbed up into the window and promptly scampered down as soon as I opened the door.
Again, no emergency. Apparently, it was just so much fun to see me the last time that she decided to give it another try.
This time, Bennett wasn't about to be soothed back to bed.
It was game on.
Looks like the little turkey may have found herself a new favorite game.