6:30 a.m. on a school day: Our children are in deep, comatose sleep, eyelids fluttering in REM, warm bodies curled in blissful tranquility. We jolt them awake, and they growl at us like bears horn-blasted out of hibernation, grumbling about the dream we interrupted.
5:45 a.m. on a snow day: The children rouse us out of bed, bright-eyed with springs in their steps, demanding to know what we’re going to do first.
Murphy’s Law is a bitch.