You see, mornings at my house were very... Interesting....
"Aye! Wasowski! It's time to GO!" I hear my beautiful sister yell.
I glanced at my red Lego alarm clock, still half asleep.
"Oh, it's only five! I can go back to sleepwaitaminute! Oh.... PUPPY FARTS!!" I think as I realize that my clock didn't say 5:00 but instead said 9:30. *Don't ask me how he got those times mixed up..*
* You said you wouldn't do this...* *Sorry, sorry...* Anyway, I immediately shot out of bed, freaking out because I was about to be late for school. I threw on the nearest clothes I could find, not caring about if they matched at all, *You cared about matching any other time?* and sprinted through the kitchen, dodging wet paintings and jumping over robots, grabbing some s'mores pop-tarts on the way of course. I hopped on my bike, and attempted to ride as quickly as I could, while eating pop-tarts as quickly as I could. Suddenly, I hear my door slam open, and then my mom screams,
"MICHAEL FITZHUBER, WHAT IN THE NAME OF JESUS ARE YOU DOING!?!?" My mom half scream-half grunted.
" WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE IM DOING, MAKING BROWNIES?!"
My mom stomps down the driveway, fuming. Mom doesn't get mad much, but when she does, if you so much as say one wrong thing, BAM. No TV. For a month.
By the time she gets to me, I'm worried she's going to punch me in the face. " It. Is. SATURDAY."
I suddenly relax. Was it really Saturday? Then I tense up immediately as I realize something. Saturday. Oh god.... Saturday? I think as Saturday, a simple day of the week, suddenly has importance. Today was Saturday. Th Big Day. The day I've been dreading for the past five months. The day when we pack up our stuff and move across the country, all the way from Sonoma, California, to Maitland, Florida. This was not going to be a good day.
