lovemakesroom

Monday started sometime around midnight when I woke up in absolute panic thinking the Tooth Fairy had overslept.

FD6 pulled out her own tooth before bed last night and apparently my brain decided this was a high-priority emergency somewhere around 12:03 AM. Nothing wakes you up faster than realizing your child may discover the Tooth Fairy forgot her job.

So there I am in the dark, half asleep, digging around for cash like I’m participating in some kind of covert nighttime operation. Tooth successfully swapped for money. Crisis averted. Back to bed.

For approximately 20 minutes.

Then a crying FS3 appeared bedside.

He climbed onto me, over me, and directly toward Wiley where he proceeded to use both of us as human jungle gyms while simultaneously kicking ribs and throwing tiny toddler punches to the face. Truly a gifted multitasker.

I eventually got him settled back into bed and somehow the house went silent for about five glorious hours.

Then morning came.

And by “morning came,” I mean I woke up to what sounded like a full percussion section in my house. Wood spoon drumming. Alexa absolutely belting out K-pop like she was headlining Coachella. Tiny feet stomping around like a five-piece dance troupe wearing wooden clogs.

No gentle wake-up in this household. We rise in chaos.

At some point FS3 proudly brought me yogurt and other random fridge items, so I asked, “Can you show me where you got those?”

Mistake.

This child confidently marched to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, pulled open the drawer, and helped himself like he pays the mortgage.

So apparently we’ve entered a new parenting phase:
Nothing in the fridge is safe anymore.

Honestly, I should probably be proud of the independence, but instead I’m mostly wondering how long I have before I find ketchup in the couch cushions.

It’s not even mid-morning yet and we’ve already had:

• Tooth Fairy overtime
• Midnight toddler MMA fights
• A K-pop concert
• Percussion performances
• Unauthorized refrigerator access

So if Monday is starting this aggressively, I genuinely fear what the rest of the week has planned.

Pray for us.
Or send coffee.
Possibly both.