Morning?

It feels so weird to realize that this story happened when I was Keilie's age.  9th grade was my favorite time in school, so memorable and fun for so many reasons.  My gosh, my daughter is in 9th grade!!  Weird.  Anyway, we were having a very important cheerleading event the next day, so I went to bed with some excitement mingled with apprehension.  I always wanted to be my best self, whether it be pristine uniform, massively back-combed hair, or expertly executed dance moves, while dancing and cheering around in front of a room full of observers.  My alarm went off, I jumped in the shower, filled my permed hair with all sorts of product to make it perfect (which means BIG.  Utah circa 1996 had some pretty bouffant hairstyles!), using up the last of my product.  My hair looked so great!   As I started to apply my makeup, a knock sounded at my bathroom door.  It was my dad, wondering what I was doing.  That was odd-- he was usually gone for work by the time I got ready.  "Um... getting ready for school?"  (Confusion) "Steph, it's 10:30pm.  Go back to bed."  Now it was my turn to be confused.  It hadn't been my alarm that woke me, but a phone call for my parents.  So, I was forced to go to bed with perfect hair, knowing that I didn't have any hairspray for the next day.  Awesome.  I remember my anxiety as if it happened yesterday.

It kind of did, but not in the same way, actually.  Again, it was 10:30pm.  I was reading the last of my chapter in my book when I heard some moving around in the family room.  Knowing that it wasn't our iRoomba moving around on it's scheduled 11:00pm vacuum sesh, I got up to investigate.  I would be lying if I didn't mention that I was freaked out, imagining it was a thief trying to steal my prized possessions.  Most likely my piano, I'm sure of it.  If I would have had a baseball bat in my room, I probably would have taken it.  Warning: I am not afraid to use deadly force when necessary.  Deadly force was not needed-- it was my Brennon, warming himself by our Heat Dish.  I understood that it is usually dark when he comes down in the morning, that he's still pretty groggy as his body wakes, so the situation wasn't out of the ordinary for him.  Time was just running a bit behind for my Brennon last night.

"Brennon, it's not tomorrow.  It's 10:30pm.  Honey, you need to go back to bed now, kay?"

"I wondered why I was so tired."

Not to worry-- we have plenty of hairspray to do his hair this morning.  Also, he doesn't have a perm, so his slept-on hair won't go bush and ugh for a room full of observers to gawk at.  So, there's that.  Lucky little Brennon!