Two-thirds of the people living in our house absolutely HATE getting out of bed in the morning. Jaclyn’s felt more tired than usual lately, which means that we’re much closer to 100% at this point and that getting out the door for work in the morning has started to turn into a mad rush.
Considering this, every second spent preparing to leave in the morning has become extremely critical to make sure we all stay on-time. While Jaclyn is still absolutely the glue holding everything together, sometimes a curveball gets thrown which threatens to completely upend the morning. As is generally the case, that curveball came from Miles today.
I was buttoning up my shirt as Miles walked into the bedroom this morning. He didn’t say a word, just came striding in with the slightest of smiles on his face (ALWAYS a surefire sign that he’s up to no good). As I reached for my pants, Miles said, “No that’s my shirt!” then grabbed the pants and tore ass out the door.
The ensuing chase took us winding through the house, me stammering, “Miles! Come on, man!” as he laughed and howled at the top of his lungs, running at top speed (which is faster than you’d think) with the pants dragging across the floor behind him (I should mention, the pants were black).
I finally caught him, and we all made it to where we needed to be on time, but man, mornings aren’t easy.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 