Morning around here usually goes like this:

Ian wakes up at “Oh dark thirty,” runs into our room, slams into the bed, jumps on us, screams at Daddy to WAKE UP IT’S UP TIME, then runs around like a demented maniac until it’s time to leave.  The decibel level approaches an aircraft hanger, the house is trashed in approximately 20 minutes from when his feet hit the floor, and someone will yell at someone before all is said and done. And then there are usually tears. And while Ian pats my arm and says, “but Mommy, it will be all right,” I can’t help but think, “there has to be a better way…”

Two days in a row we’ve had idyllic mornings where he listened, cleaned up after himself without being reminded, played quietly, gave me lots of nice hugs and kisses, and just generally performed above expectations.  I, personally, can’t help wondering if he’s ill in some way, but for a substantial cash donation I’m willing to have him lick your kid in case it’s catching.

Here’s a little sample for you:

Essential gear for reading Dr. Seuss

While getting dressed out of his shark jammies:

The shark says, “I’M HUNGRY!” and the fish say, “OH NO! You are NOT going to eat us.” and then the fish just SWIM AWAY because they do not like to be eaten.”

Lolling about after making the bed

In fact,Mommy is SO impressed by how wonderful the last two mornings have been, that she is doing everything in her power to make sure this feat is repeatable.  Ian helped me design this chart of his morning routine:

Going on the back of Ian's door as a record of how this is SUPPOSED to work