Five more minutes

This morning began like every other school day in my house.

"Hoover. Hoover, get out of bed. HOOVER!"

He's only 5, but in the mornings it's like he's 15. Disgruntled Husband and I shoot for it to see who has to deal with Hoover in the mornings. And the other person deals with the other two.

Sadly, it's not an even match. Larry Potter and Mini Me jump out of bed and get dressed.

On one hand, I'm not much of a morning person either, but on the other hand, I'm 31. When I was five, there were no problems getting me out of bed. That didn't happen until I was about 16 or 17.

So why is my son so "advanced?"

People talk to me about bedtime. He goes to bed about 8 p.m, but is in and out of bed until about 9. That could be a component. Hoover also snores like a 65 year old man. Maybe there's a little sleep apnea going on, but he's snored since he was a baby. (Really. I wish I had this on film. Because there's nothing funnier than a 3 month old snoring like his grandfather.)

And then there's the naughty theorem: The naughtier you are, the more sleep you need. And though I'd politically-correctly change naughty with active, it still holds water. Or Ny-Quil in this case.

Is it bad to slip this into Hoover's mouth about an hour before I need him up?

Hoover bounces on his tip-toes like Tigger and runs around a room like the Tasmanian Devil. Kindergarten has really been challenging this year, as he has to somehow pull all that energy in and sit still and do what needs to be done. We got report cards Friday, and let's just say it's an area that still needs work.

What's a mom to do?

Let me tell you just how bad it is. This morning, it took me 10 minutes to get him standing. I brought him his clothes and he hid under his covers, at the bottom of the bed. Once I got him where I could hold him, I put his pants on him, while he was still in some sort of sleep state. It's very reminiscent of his babyhood. And not in a good way. I get kicked. He rolls over. Sometimes, he falls out of bed. Once I got him on his feet, I threw his shirt on him and sent him downstairs to find socks and put on his boots.

And after all that, he's not exactly speedy with getting his outside stuff on.

Short of pouring him an espresso, I'm not sure what to do anymore.

It's gotten to the point that we have to bribe him with breakfast. Not that he can't have it, but rather that if he dawdles, he can't eat cereal at the table. It's dry in Ziploc bag or a granola bar. And if there's one thing Hoover takes seriously, it's his meals. (But even this is starting not to work. The other day he told me he'd just grab some snow on the way outside.)

But what really worries me is if he's this bad now, how much worse is it going to get? He comes from a long line of teenage sleepers. Pray for me.