It was a long weekend for Micah. I let him stay up late on Friday night because it was the weekend and you've gotta live it. When he got up Saturday morning, he decided that he was going to Grandma's and packed his bags and headed up the drive. I called him back and said Daddy would take him. (Independent much?) He played at Grandma's until time for his soccer game, then came home with me to spend the afternoon playing in the great outdoors. He stayed up late Saturday night waiting for his brothers to come home, and spent Sunday afternoon hiking the Back 40 with the big boys. And then because he was overtired, he didn't go to sleep until nearly 11 last night. I know it makes no sense, but it's the way he rolls.
I knew for a fact that he'd be super hard to get up for school on Monday morning. I was none too happy about this, mostly because I was being all selfish and didn't want to drive him to school after he finally got up. You know, five minutes after the bus left. This is not my first time around this block and I know how the boy works.
My alarm went off, I hit snooze, and then contemplated the day. First I listened for Micah. Nada. This could only mean that he was still sleeping, and then I remembered that he was going to be overtired and that he'd be harder to wake than a bear in January. And just as fun if I was successful. Even in the 6:00 hour in the morning I'm coherent enough to know that it would be my wisest option to let Micah sleep.
I headed down the hall to check the status of the sleeping boy. Exactly how hard was he sleeping? If I poked him and he grumbled at me and turned over while pulling the covers over his head, there was hope. If he just laid there, it was going to be pointless. When I walked in his bedroom he was playing in the middle of the floor, but jumped into bed the moment he saw me and made the sign for sleep. OH, THAT BOY WAS GOING TO SCHOOL. I was pulling on my Mommy Pants and winning this battle, by golly.
I had to threaten the boy to get him out of bed and downstairs, but I managed to get him dressed with minimal fuss. While I was looking for his shoes, he melted into a hissy fit on the floor. And then when I went in search of his backpack, he ran for the couch and covered himself up. I figured he had 10 minutes before his van was due to arrive so I'd let him chill there and decide to be part of Monday on his own terms.
And then he fell asleep.
I should be really grateful that he got extra rest, knowing that he most certainly needed it. I should be glad that he went back to bed, since he developed a cold over the weekend and is grumpy from that anyway. And I am. Really. I'm glad he got some sleep. But why on earth do I feel like he got the last say? Why is it that Micah seems to be the one that calls all the shots around here, and I'm just along for the ride? For once, can I just be in charge like a mom should be?