Friday, July 13, 2012

You'd think by now I'd know...

Why, in the middle of the night, when I am suddenly woken up by someone standing over my bed does it never (ever) occur to me that it might be one of my children?

Why on EARTH would it be an intruder? 
It's never been an intruder.
Are there many intruders who are under 4' 10" who run around in nightshirts and messy hair?

And yet, my first thought is never "Oh, just one of the kids".  It's always "(GASP) WHAT? WHO ARE YOU?"  Sure that the waking poke was from a knife (which might not be the case if I made them cut their nails more often), I'm certain with every fiber of my being, for that split second in which I first notice that someone is standing over me trying to wake me up, that I am in mortal danger. 

And then I'm cranky, because really?  Being woken up by an intruder is scary.  Trumping any nightmare they might have just had, which is probably why they are standing ominously over me, poking me, trying to wake me up.

You'd think I'd learn.  But no. 
Tiny little intruders with teddy bears, calling me mom. 
Clearly you can see why I'm terrified.