This morning, Drew was up early. He's always up early. Every night around 4 A.M. we hear, "Is it daytime yet?" from what sounds like a disembodied voice in our room. No it's just Drew either in a sleeping bag on the floor next to our bed or in our bed (which means kicking me repeatedly until I move to where I have about 14 inches of our King Size bed to myself). As long as he's comfortable. Right.
Lately, he's been taking great joy in waking up Clay, who still gets his 11 hours in most nights and is usually only awoken with promises of french toast sticks, or threats of buckets of cold water being poured on him. The boy like his sleep; except of course at bedtime.
So this morning I hear "I'm Optimus Prime!" coming from Clay's room. I go in to find Drew in his Transformed state, shaking his brother's bed with the menacing, electronically processed voice of a 3 year old screaming, "I'm Optimus Prime! Wakey-wakey Clay!"
For a moment, in the half-darkness, Clay wasn't sure what was going on. Then he let out a little yelp and threw the covers back over his head. After a second, he realized what was going on and got up and started telling Drew that this was not funny.
Maybe tomorrow, I make sure Drew finds the Incredible Hulk Smash Hands before he goes in to wake Clay. Wake up, puny human!
UPDATE: He came into our bedroom this morning as a pajamaed Darth Vader to wake us up. And so it goes.
