Something along the lines of ... "Wake up at exactly 4.21am every morning starting tomorrow and wander into your parents room and tell them it's time to get up"
They were supposed to give him grommets, not an internal alarm clock, set for what I consider THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
We have one of those fandangled clocks which projects the time onto the ceiling in bright red. For four mornings it has throbbed 4.21 in the darkness as I return my reluctant boy back to bed where he lies and either shouts, cries, sings or goes back to sleep. The latter happening only once or twice.
The shouting becomes unbearable, like water torture (I imagine) ... 'Mummy, Mummy, Mummy' then 'Muuuuuuumy ...... Muuuuuuuuuuumy ..... Muuuuuuuuuuuuumy'. It's amazing how many variations can be shouted and the different pitches which wear away your patience a little more with each shout.
I turn into a human yo-yo. Stumbling back into bed then being summoned for a kiss, to fill a beaker with water, a cuddle, to cover up his god damn sock clad feet or to assist him in having a wee. I turn into psycho-mummy telling him how furious I will be if he wakes his sister up.
Last night was the worst - first the 3 year old woke at 2.53 with a cough, then he woke his sister who started coughing too. I am able to testify that a cough can be passed through a wall. I, the human yo-yo staggered back and forth between the children. Cough tennis continued until at 4.17 there was silence for 35 minutes, followed by the equivilent of the Wimbledon Final of coughing.
The only good thing is that I have discovered that between the hours of 4.21 and 7.36 I do my best blog writing, unfortunately it is all in my head. By the time I am sat in front of my PC at a more reasonable hour it has all slipped out and I can remember nothing.
I am now at work, mainlining Diet Coke through a drip, holding my eyelids open with one hand and typing with the other. It's going to be a long day.
You can only imagine how hilarious this post was at 4.21 in the confines of my head.