There’s no need for an alarm- they wake you up instead. Like clockwork.
Their feet are pounding through the floor above your head. Their voices can be heard beginning with soft chatter and then building to the inevitable screaming match.
“That my book. She can’t have it! It all mine! Mine. Meahhh!”
“It’s not just your book. It belongs to all of us and you can’t even read yet. I’m gonna play with your cars.’
“Those my cars! You can’t have! Where my red one? Mine. Meahhh!”
“I want to go swimming? Can we go swimming? I want to go swimming. Aunt Cheryl? Do you hear me?”
“What smells? Oh oh. She’s throwing it.”
“I like my present Aunt Cheryl. Box is good for making Batman mask. Where my car?”
“Whatcha watching on TV? Are those good men or bad men? Mommy doesn’t let us watch this. Can we watch it?”
“You have lot of pretty shoes. Look! Oh oh. It broke.”
“Aunt Cheryl, I found my car but I…but I…but I can’t reach it. It’s wet.”
“I still hungry.”
So you might ask what do you do with four youngins’, under the age of eight, that see everything in your world as a potential new toy to be disassembled and dropped in the koy pond?
You scare the hell out of them, of course.
Welcome to Hotel Cheryl…
“Any time of the year you can find it here.”