For crying out loud.
This morning I tried the 6 a.m. sneak again: slide from under the covers stealthily; slipper step on creaky minefield of 120-year-old floorboards past girls' rooms; perform gymnastic feat of descending staircase without a sound. Allow sigh of relief upon reaching the kitchen. Fill teakettle. Praises be, the auto feature is working on gas burners. Arrange teabag just so.
Get ready to congratulate oneself and read some blogs for an hour before anyone's up wanting soft-boiled eggs. Yuck.
Carry teacup and toast through dining room into closet-called-office.
It's almost time for the big prize: the mommy hour.
Nearly drop cup and plate, stifle scream because... two small girls are sitting on the living room couch with a puzzle and a pile of books, staring silently at my supposedly sneaky self.
How were they sneakier than me?