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I woke up in a panic at 4 am.  I sat bolt right up in bed, trying to figure out if I was going to be late.

Yes, tragically, I work the weekends.

I was relieved to see my clock staring back at me with the numbers 4:04.  It made sense.  Lately, I have been waking up between 5 and 5:30 am.  But with daylight savings, I was right on schedule…kind of.

I fell back into my pillows and got what I hoped would be a few more hours of sleep.  At least until 7:00.

Sometime later, dear husband got out of bed.  Presumably to go to the bathroom.  He came back into our room and instead of crawling into bed quietly so as not to disturb my slumber, he flopped like a limp rag doll onto the bed, catapulting me a good six inches into the air.  Go ahead, try to sleep through that.

I rolled towards him and flung my leg across him and tried to get back to sleep. I didn’t know what time it was by this point, nor did I care.

He made this snorting, sniffing sound.  It sounded like a pig rooting around a trough.  A minute later, he made the sound again into my left ear.  And then again.  And again.

I gave and exaggerated huff to let him know I wasn’t pleased and flung myself to the other side of the bed to get away from his snorting.

“What are you doing?” he inquired.

“Table tennis.”

“I don’t know why I’m trying to go back to sleep.  Your oldest is already awake.”

“Fan-tastic.”

The clock now informed me it was 6:02.  It’s going to be a fun day with her.  Too bad I’m headed to work and can’t watch the train wreck as it unfolds.

“MOOOOOM!” I hear from the next room.

“And there’s your little one,” I say to dear husband.

“WHAT is the MATTER with your KIDS?!”

And with that, my dreams for daylight savings were dashed.  Better luck next year!

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