So, between Daylight Savings Time and something that sort of vaguely resembles Spring Break -- at least for Firstborn -- our family schedule is in a state of complete higgledy-piggledy. Firstborn is going off to coding camp (he's learning to program in Scratch), so instead of me taking him to school, the Beautiful Woman is taking him to camp. To make that easier, I've switched over to taking Secondborn to his preschool... except that Secondborn does not want to wake up in the morning. Or go to bed at night, for that matter. It's as if his whole schedule is suddenly off by an hour...
And so but anyway, I've been getting everyone up and ready to go in the mornings. I mean, okay, yeah, that's kind of what I do, but usually I can get Firstborn up, dressed, fed, and ready to leave on time. Usually, I can even manage to make a cup of tea for myself and another for my beautiful wife. This week... not so much. I haven't made it out the door on time even once. I'm making it to work, but I'm either just-slightly-late or just-barely-on-time. And a lot of the reason for this is...
He doesn't want to wake up. Won't wake up, is more like it. And when I do manage to wake him up, he becomes one massive thundercloud of glowering, plaintive unhappiness. Getting him to eat his waffles is a trick. Getting him dressed is a challenge. Getting him into the car is a struggle.
Then, of course, I get to listen to him complain all the way to his preschool. Everybody is mean to him. Nobody loves him. (I explain that, in fact, we all love him, we just need him to help us out.) There's a brief pause. The moon's going to kill us.
The moon's going to kill us.
That... has the makings of a really creepy little short story, or a bizarre element in some sort of larger story. The moon's going to kill us. Individually. Like, we're moon-prey. Or it has a personal grudge. I don't even know, but I'll do... something... with that image.
My four-year-old: providing me with my morning dose of nightmare fuel.