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Chookie would be proud


This morning, after managing to fall back asleep for an hour, Kris and I were woken up to some loud DVD player blaring some Christmas song a its top volume, which mean lovely Christmas distortion. Kris managed to drag himself up out of bed and follow the smells of breakfast into the kitchen, my will power is much stronger.

I managed another 10 minutes before Kris returned to insist I rise, lest the Christmas schedule be thrown off course by a slack ass daughter-in-law who won't get out of bed. We have a schedule to keep! I agreed to the schedule last night, so get. up. right. now.

Kris left, I dragged my butt out of bed and to the computer to ask no one in particular, "In what kind of delusional world do you get mad at me for failing to follow schedule you claim I approved, but in reality have never seen, much less know? And! At which point did you forget that 8:30 am East Coast is still 5:30 am Pacific?"

Yeah, not so cheerful in the morning. I claim no responsibility for any words I type while still in the throes of slumber.

Somehow my fingers moved, my arms moved, and my legs moved. I managed to stumble to the bathroom, start the shower, and wake up with the water cascading down on me. After showering, drying off, clothing myself, and wandering into the kitchen, I verified I had time to eat breakfast, no I hadn't blown the schedule, there were four people still missing from the morning. Kris' mom makes the most delicious baked oatmeal, which is a treat every time we come. When I was done, I thanked his mom.

"Thank you for making bo... baked oatmeal. It's delicious."

"You're welcome," Kris' mom answered.

"Did you almost call it boatmeal?" Kris asked.




"Well.... yeah, um, well, there's no ache in this breakfast."

One dramatic pause later...

"Boatmeal it is."

Chookie would be so proud.