I'm not a morning person. You'd think I'd then consider myself a night person. Nope, not a night person either. I'm more of a day person. In my ideal world, my day would start at 8am and I'd be able to crawl into bed by 10pm. Unfortunately, Wyatt is not entirely attuned to my preferred schedule and still wakes up early from time to time. One of those times was this morning. I first heard his little voice at 5:50am. I'll admit it, I hate anything in the fives. I honestly kind of hate the sixes as well but it's embarrassing to say out loud because adults are supposed to be okay with waking up in the sixes. I'm not. If I can sleep until the sevens, my day will generally turn out okay.
We really lucked out with Wyatt and his sleeping patterns. Actually, I believe it is a gift from God. He goes to bed sometime between 8 and 9:30pm and nearly always wakes up between 7:30 and 8:30am. For awhile he liked to get up around 6am but then we covered his window with two huge beach towels and it's been at least 7:30am since. But, something seems to be different these past few days and it's back to the fives, my least favorite time of day. The saddest part about him waking up in the fives is the combination of his sunny disposition and desire to play and my sluggish inability and and lack of desire to do so.
I wonder if I will ever become a morning person. I'd give that 10:1 odds. Place your bets.
We had a memorable 4th of July celebration complete with our favorite friends, the Tyndalls. This was our eighth year spending the holiday with Scott and Lisa and our third with their son, Jack. It's probably the only thing I've ever done consistently for eight straight years in my entire life. You know how you look forward to some house guests and not others? Well, we always look forward to the Tyndalls. They're such good friends, it makes every thing easy without a bit of pressure. Whether we have tons of activities lined up, sit and watch West Wing reruns all afternoon or have a mini-Wii tournament, it's always good times with these friends. We hit up the Cayucos parade (where our teeny town of 3,000 swelled to a whopping 43,000!) and sandcastle contest and enjoyed kettle corn and fish tacos. At night we elected to put the kids to bed early and watch the fireworks from our living room.
Unfortunately, I came down with the sick pukes during the night on Friday and am still in recovery. Claire, our four year old friend in Texas, once called the stomach flu the sick pukes and Garett and I have been borrowing the term since. I thought it was food poisoning so I wasn't cautious with spreading the germs and, kindly, passed it along to Wyatt. Poor guy, I found him lying in his throw-up Monday morning. He's so mellow, he never cried or even made a peep. Yesterday was a long day filled with projectile sick pukes and long, tired moans from Wyatt but today is already looking better. His temperature is lower and he seems to be keeping down food.
Being sick and taking care of a little sickie, I feel like I'm going through an initiation period for becoming a mom. Learning how to care for myself and simultaneously care for Wyatt with a hint of grace is a good goal. For now, we'll keep laughing and hope the sick pukes are on their way back to Texas.
Ruby, our adorable and accident prone one year old Boxer, is my number one inspiration for putting a little money in my savings account from time to time. The thing is, you never know when she's going to swallow a bottle cap, snort a foxtail or need an expensive shot or surgery. I'm guilty of completely romanticizing dog ownership and the reality has been less than romantic. Despite the unexpected costs associated with Ruby, we love her quite a bit (well, Garett loves her more than I do) and are usually glad she's part of our family.