My god, I don’t know how 10-year-old me managed to voluntarily wake up before 8am on a Saturday, but I commend the little trooper.
Well, commend and judge – mostly judge. Why didn’t you waste every weekend like cool adults do, you little tween dud?
No, no, that’s not fair. 10-year-old me probably knew I’d sleep my life away as an adult so he got in the early starts while he still could.
Regardless, I decided to revisit my old Saturday morning routine as a hot mess 20-something (purely for schitts and giggles) and it went just as you’d expect.
Here’s a rundown of how it used to go, compared to my efforts last weekend.
I’d sneak down the hall to crank the gas heater in the lounge room.
For a solid 20 minutes, I’d have a post-sleep nap on the mat in front of the heater, while a show I wasn’t really fond of droned on in the background – nothing ever good happened at 6:30am, even back then.
I didn’t realise at the time that there was a gas leak from the heater that my parents just didn’t bother to fix, even after my canary literally got gassed to death (R.I.P Junior Lou). And yet, Mum and Dad still let us nap in front of it all the time.
Early-’00s parenting 101.
Oh babay, it was time for the good stuff.
After my much-needed power nap, I’d wake up to the sound of either The Smurfs, Art Attack, The Weekenders, Recess, DuckTales, Spongebob Squarepants, Rugrats or Winnie The Pooh.
All the bangers.
Mum and Dad usually got up around 7:30 but I was in TV bliss so their presence was a mere blur to me.
Because there were so many damn ad breaks, I had plenty of time to mosey on into the kitchen and fix myself a bowl of Coco Pops.
Confession time: this (below) is how I used to eat breakfast every. Single. Morning. I swear I was part-bird.
At this time I’d usually try to walkie-talkie my friend who lived a few streets away.
For those of you born in an era where phones come out of the womb alongside the baby, walkie-talkies were these sort of faux-phones where you’d both have to be on the same channel, with the talkies turned on, and only one of you could speak at a time.
It was hell but it was fun.
Unless we had a week off, this was around the time I’d start getting ready for basketball whilst contemplating how painful it’d be if I broke my ankle to get out of it.
In saying that, it was a rush after I came off the court, but I can’t tell if that was adrenaline or just the knowledge that it was over for another week.
Perhaps I’ll never know.
Yeah nah that was never gonna happen.
One eye opened, ever-so-briefly.
I also made a mental note to ban all alarms when I become Australia’s first dictator. Well, alarms and people who cut in front of me at the deli.
Take a number and get your ass behind me, having three kids does not entitle you to cutsies.
Stumbled downstairs and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. I was in a rush to feel better so I settled for what I think was expired Panadol at the bottom of the basket. Will my headache clear up or will I crap my pants? Who knows, that’s the fun.
I then cranked the heater and faceplanted onto the couch.
Woke up feeling fresh as a daisy and mosied into the kitchen to prepare the Coco Pops I’d specifically bought for the weekend. See? I did prepare. Kinda.
Tried to balance on the kitchen bench à la 10-year-old me, and while it was far more uncomfortable than I remembered (my knees were cursing me out the entire time), I did it. I did it, you guys.
After that brief monent of torture, I sat back down on the couch and tried to find a kid’s show that I could stand.
I may have missed the boat given it was after midday.
Started streaming Spongebob Squarepants because free-to-air TV was starting to make me physically irate.
Sat there and mulled over finding a basketball court nearby to shoot exactly one (1) hoop to say I technically did it.
Immediately decided against the idea, citing ‘a severe desire not to’ as a valid reason.
Reheated food I’d apparently made the night before.
I’m not one to pat myself on the back very often, but I’d rate my efforts a solid 3/10.
If you knew me, you’d find that impressive.