Where I yank the stick out of dark unmentionable orifices.

Ahhhh. There is nothing like waking up to....birds. The smell of coffee. And nothing else. No husband lecturing the kiddo, no kiddo falling off the potty across the hall from my bedroom, no neighbors running a table saw at some ungodly hour for the second year straight, no shitty crotchrockets revving for twenty damn minutes at 5 am across the street, no NADA ZIP ZILCH.

Why am I blessed with silence and good smells of roasty caffinated delciousity?

Because there is SWIM CLASS. *cue choir of angels descending and yodelling their little wings off*

Swim class (or tee ball, or gymnastics, or really anything that gets the kid out of the house, including grafitti on overpasses and playing craps in a dark alley) is a godsend. It is at 9 am, which means Manwife and Squidge have hopped the bus or putted down in Old Blue at about quarter til, much earlier than SSAs like myself are even expected to function properly or are *able* to wake at all. Except perhaps to wee.

So while those two creep out, I have my large bed and all the pillows and quilts TO MYSELF. I can sprawl without being kicked, I can roam about in my sleep without getting too close to the swampy sleeper (manwife!) and getting sticky and damp and basted in Manwife sweat. I can kick half the covers off. I can sleep right in the very middle of the bed, where the pillows form a sort of massive pillow-crack (cleavage?) and I can bury myself to hide from the blinding light coming in through our twin skylights over the bed. Whoever thought skylights in bedrooms was a good idea needs to be slapped repeatedly.
Another good thing, I don't have to deal with the Backyardigans, or Blue's Clues, or Spongebob, or any asinine kid's show, or whining about not being able to watch said asinine kid's shows. No. Why?

THEY ARE GONE! It is quiet. There is coffee, a deep lack of responsibility (including pants-wearing), and I am glad.

JEEBUS BLESS YOU, YMCA SWIM CLASSES. Now please be two hours long instead of a 1/2.