There are mornings when you wake up refreshed, ready to greet the day with a smile and a steaming cup of coffee.
And then there are mornings when you contemplate committing a felony against a tablet.
Guess which kind of morning I had.
My two teenage grandchildren, Bella and JJ, spent the night. I love these children. Truly, I do.
But apparently, somewhere along the evolutionary timeline, teenagers developed the ability to sleep through noises that would send a grown adult diving for cover.
At an ungodly hour this morning, an alarm started ringing.
Not a pleasant little beep-beep-beep.
No.
This thing sounded like an old-fashioned telephone. The kind that announces an incoming call with all the subtlety of a fire truck entering your living room.
And it rang.
And rang.
And RANG.
For approximately ten minutes.
Eventually, Grammy had enough.
I marched into the living room, located the offending tablet, and shut off the alarm.
Or so I thought.
While attempting to find the power button, I accidentally took two photographs of my dining room table.
Don’t ask.
I have no idea how I managed it.
Somewhere on that tablet are now two mysterious photographs of furniture, taken in the early morning hours by an unidentified photographer.
And I intend to remain unidentified.
I returned to bed.
Then the alarm went off again.
Back to the living room. Another intervention. Another temporary victory.
Surely that would be the end of it.
Narrator: It was not the end of it.
The THIRD alarm began ringing.
At this point, I was beginning to wonder whether the tablet had become self-aware and developed a personal vendetta against me.
I grabbed the thing and stood between two sleeping teenagers.
Bella was on the couch.
JJ was in the recliner.
I waited.
Eventually, Bella opened her eyes, looked at me, pointed at her brother, and rolled over to face the inside of the couch.
Not a word.
Just a silent identification of the guilty party followed by an immediate refusal to participate in further proceedings.
Well played, Bella.
I approached JJ and positioned the ringing tablet directly in front of his face.
And when I say directly, I mean his nose was practically touching it.
Nothing.
The child did not move.
I shook his knee.
He opened his eyes.
And without making eye contact, without sitting up, without demonstrating the slightest intention of joining the conscious world…
HE TURNED OFF THE ALARM WITH HIS NOSE.
HIS. NOSE.
Then he closed his eyes again.
Now, inside, Grammy was DYING laughing.
Outside, Grammy maintained her authority.
“Oh no you don’t. That’s the THIRD TIME this morning.”
A sly little grin crossed his face.
“I’m just gonna turn off my alarms.”
Well, there’s a novel idea, sweetheart.
I’m delighted we arrived at that conclusion before noon.
With the technological hostage situation finally resolved, I headed back to my bedroom.
And that’s when the second criminal enterprise began.
My Chihuahua, Maggie Mae, was standing at the foot of the bed.
Now, any dog owner knows what that usually means.
Mother, I require the facilities.
Being the responsible pet parent that I am, I pulled on my sweatshirt and headed toward the living room, expecting her to follow.
Except…
No Maggie.
I looked around.
Nothing.
I went back into the bedroom, assuming she’d crawled beneath the comforter.
She had not.
SHE WAS IN MY SPOT.
And not just curled up somewhere near my spot.
Oh, no.
This little menace was stretched out with her HEAD ON MY PILLOW.
Like she pays the bills here at Casa de Grammy.
I stood there looking at her.
She lifted her head and regarded me with those big, dark Chihuahua eyes.
The expression was unmistakable.
“And?”
Not a trace of remorse.
Not one ounce of shame.
Just a tiny dog with an underbite who had apparently decided the master bedroom was now under new management.
And that’s when it occurred to me.
I HAD BEEN HAD.
I am convinced that standing at the foot of the bed was a ruse.
She didn’t need to go outside.
She needed ME to go outside.
Or at least leave the room long enough for her to claim the warmest, most comfortable piece of real estate in the apartment.
The little criminal had orchestrated a hostile pillow takeover.
To her credit, she eventually lifted her head and graciously permitted me to resume my position in the bed.
Such generosity.
Such benevolence.
Such absolute AUDACITY.
So let’s review.
One teenager slept through an alarm loud enough to wake the neighbors.
The other identified the suspect and immediately returned to sleep.
The suspect himself operated a tablet with his NOSE.
I accidentally became a furniture photographer.
And my Chihuahua manipulated me into surrendering my own pillow.
All before breakfast.
Meanwhile, I’m the one who actually needs a decent night’s sleep.
But apparently, that’s not a priority here at Casa de Grammy.
I pay the rent.
I buy the groceries.
I provide the blankets, pillows, electricity, and Wi-Fi.
And somehow, I’m the only resident who doesn’t get to sleep undisturbed.
Well, except for Maggie Mae.
She’s currently accepting applications for someone to fluff her pillow.
Menopause & Malarkey. Where the teenagers sleep, the Chihuahua rules, and Grammy is one alarm away from appearing on the evening news.
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