Our kids wake up early. Every day, regardless of what is happening, they are up and out of bed way before the rest of civilized society. A few years back, we actually enacted a “don’t wake us up until 6:30” rule, and of all the rules of the house, this is close to being the most unbreakable.

This past Saturday, however, they slept in. 7:00am rolled around, and they were still sleeping soundly in their beds. On many Saturdays, this would not be a problem, but they had a cross-country meet at 8am.

I opened their door very quietly, and peeked in at the sleeping little angels. “Pssst,” I whispered. “Time to wake up.”

The youngest raised his head blearily.

“Time to get up,” I said softly. “Cross-country track meet”

“I’m sleeping,” my oldest grumbled.

“Oh,” I said, sorting through their CDs. “I’m sorry.” I selected one and put it in their boom box. “Is this too early for you?”

The little one sat up. “Daddy, what are you – ”

I hit play and cranked the volume. “WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU!” filled the room.

“Ahh!” the youngest shouted and jumped out of bed, laughing.

“Daa-aaady,” the oldest groaned. “It’s too early!”

I tapped the bed twice and clapped in time to the music.

Ah, sweet revenge.

Revenge for what, you may ask. For this, I answer, for this.

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