Dear children,

I am asking, begging, no, pleading with you...

Can you please wake up in the mornings? Is it so hard?

Why must I grab the foot that is hanging over the loft bed and shake, pull and prod it just to get a response? You must get up preferably at 6, at least by 6:30, and go to school at 7 every morning five days out of the week. You would think that you'd get up naturally, or with a little less prodding.

And Bear, why, why must I cajole you out of bed? Why do you need to come crawl into our bed in the morning before you will even entertain the idea of waking up. I'm not even sure you open your eyes on the way to our room. Why must I spend so much time convincing you getting out of bed is a good idea?

Now, Turbo, you are my exception. And I hate to mention you, because you are like the sun. You rise every morning, bright eyed and cheery, ready for anything... school, gymnastics, the hordes of Attila the Hun, anything... and Ipromise you I am not complaining or whining one bit. But I just ask one small concession. Before you inflict your cheery, bright-eyed gonna go tackle the day gleefully attitude on me, could you, you know, let me have some coffee first?