The next morning, Sawyer woke me with a gentle slap on the face. He was really being sweet, but no pat on my head at six forty-five feels tender. Fortunately, I managed to smile and say, “Good morning, Love Bug. Don’t you want to come lay down just a little while longer?” instead of swearing.
Unfortunately, no matter how much I hoped, my little boy did not go back to bed once he was up. Sometimes, I could convince him to lay beside Beauregard at the foot of the bed, and I’d grab a few more minutes. But typically, the cost of this ploy – Beau’s haughtiness and sometimes horribly placed hairballs – were not worth the three-and-a-half extra minutes of shut-eye. Beau loved Sawyer, but from a distance, and, before dawn, I felt much the same.
Still, I forced my eyes open, stood up, and got my
