Oh, I have never been so wrong.
When that awful beeping startled me out of my blissful dreams, I half considered blowing off school and not getting up.
And I would have, had it not meant I'd have the children home another day.
Painfully, I tore myself away from the warm quilts and slid into my pink fuzzy slippers. I plodded down the hall and found all three beds still occupied; a phenomenon which never happens. The crazy people in this house take great delight in waking up at the crack of dawn on any given day. Except, naturally, the one day they have to.
Breakfast was marked with yawns and their drowsy, resentful silence.
At one point in the morning, I found a child asleep on the stairs with his backpack and coat on. I gently nudged him awake, and reminded him of all the fun he would have at school today; how his friends would be so happy to see him, how he'd be having pizza for lunch. His sleepy eyes and pouty lips were not to be convinced.
Finally, the bus lumbered slowly around the corner. I watched as their shoulders drooped just a little bit, and their feet grudgingly moved forward, one tired step at a time.
I felt so very sorry for them. But ever the stoic, I waved earnestly, then did the only decent thing a good mother like myself could do: I crawled back into my still-warm bed and took a nap.
My own brand of solidarity.
[Just don't tell the kids. I think it'd break their little hearts.]