A typical morning with a three-year old

Time: Sometime around 0-dark-30

Weather: (No idea, it’s dark out)

BANG (The boy’s door opens)

pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter (He runs to our room)

BANG (He opens our door)

One of my eyes opens to look at the clock. It is 5:40 in the morning. Like a groundhog ruining my garden my son burrows his way to the middle of the bed. It’s a coin toss as to whose pillow, mine or my wife’s, he will confiscate as his own. My blankets will be pulled inward towards the invader, exposing my shoulders to the cold of our room.


He speaks. “Can I watch cartoons”.

I reply “No Tristan it’s too early. Snuggle down and rest some more please”.

One of my eyes opes to look at the clock. It is 5:51 in the morning. I am being kicked in the back again, and again, and again. Little feet press somehow up under my rib cage and are hitting me directly in my organs (at least that is how it feels).

“Tristan, settle down please.”

One of my eyes opens to look at the clock. It is 6:01 in the morning. My wife and son are engaged in an argument about positioning in the bed. I have already missed most of it but from what I can gather, Tristan has savagely attacked his mom, taken her pillow and given her a concussion. I speak up to help resolve the dispute.


It’s all I can get out before drifting back off to sleep. I’m not sure how effective my words are.

Both of my eyes open. It’s 6:04 in the morning. I don’t know how, or who, but someone, somehow has just kicked me in the face. I blame the most likely culprit.

“Tristan, please do not kick me in the face. Now settle down please.”

“No, you don’t talk to me that way.”

Excuse me, did he really just say that after he kicked me. Clearly he is challenging my place as the alpha male leader of the pack.

My eyes are now wide open. “Tristan, you DO NOT speak to me like that. Now please, let’s go into the bathroom so you can go potty.”


“YES, Tristan, Let go.” You can either go potty or go back to your room and go back to bed. (I’m still half asleep but I’m pretty sure I just saw my son breathe fire)

5 minutes later: we have struggled to make the boy go potty and he has been given the opportunity to cool off in his room alone. The dogs are asking to be fed and go out and I need coffee. Just another typical morning with a three-year old.

Pat Lemieux

About Pat Lemieux

Pat has it all, family, big old house, dogs, a young son and a quarter-life crisis. He blogs about trying to be who he has always been and be who he now needs to be. He enjoys 90's grunge metal, tasty local brews and the outdoors.