THIS A.M.

The phone rings at 5:50 a.m. I reach for it.

"I hate you." I say.

HSPQ, equally cheerful says, "It's RAINING!"

I tell her she can just come over here and we can do the treadmill together.

Ha. Ha.

So, I guess my marathon training will have to wait.

Instead of going back to sleep, I decide to get up and use this quiet hour-and-a-half to get some writing done.

How in the heck do the kids know? Two-thirds of them are up at six a.m. today, and the littlest one is already saying, "I hate school. I don't want to go. I'm scared of school. I will miss you." This is THE SAME EXACT SCHOOL HE ATTENDED LAST YEAR, IN THE SAME CLASS ROOM, WITH THE SAME TWO EXACT TEACHERS. How has one summer changed my Tukey from a model student into a sobbing little preschooler? Was being home with me every single day for three months really all that great?

I suggest to Tukey that we go upstairs and lie down in his room, since he usually sleeps for two more hours in the a.m. We lie in his bed and he tells me he wants to pray to God. Of course, I am gushing, my little boy is so adorable. He likes to pray with his ceramic cross that is on his wall and he asks me to get it down for him.

His little fists grip the cross, his eyes are slammed shut tight, he is deep in thought, ready to converse with the Lord.

"Dear Jesus. I love you. Very, very much. And I do not want to go at school today. Amen."

Post Script: He is still telling me he is not going to school. I keep telling him he is going to go to school.

"You and Dad are not the boss of me. God is."

"And God wants you to go to school today," I say.

His reply, rolling around on the carpet and whining: "And then I am going to throw up on your face."

It's going to be a LFD, that's for sure.