5:07 a.m. is a good time of the day. It's just shortly after the YMCA opens, and it's about the time I walk out of the locker room, either onto the pool deck or toward the track. I'm awake and ready to hit the morning's workout.
Well... Normally.
At 5:07 THIS morning, I was laying in bed wondering if I should look at the clock and find out how long until my alarm would go off, or just go back to sleep until it actually sounded. Curiousity won out and I glanced at the clock.
Blink! Blink! "Funny, that looks like 5:07. It must be 4:07." Looking at the clock again, squinting to ensure I wasn't misreading, it dawned on me that the alarm had been set for 6 a.m. Apparently, I forgot to reset it before going to bed.
Mind you, all of that took place in about one second as I jumped out of bed berating myself. Quietly. After all, regardless of how late I was, everyone else in the house was still sleeping.
As I quickly got dressed and headed out the door, carefully making sure I wasn't leaving anything behind, one question kept popping into my head.
Why hadn't either of my children woke me up at 4 a.m. I ALWAYS get an early wake-up call.
Go figure. The one morning my alarm is messed up, my kids sleep through the night without incident. That should make me happy. Somehow, instead of feeling I've gained more sleep, I feel as though I've lost a backup alarm clock.
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