Scrambled eggs

Ever since Chance came along, Mike and I have traded off sleeping in on Sundays, which I mean sleeping past 6:00am. Now there has never been a drawn up schedule, but usually a tired "You slept in last week, it's my turn" or "Do you really want to see me cry? Do you want to cry? Because I can make that happen" would suffice. Sometimes, if one of us had a long night doing laundry or bills or grading papers, the other would give up our Sunday sleep in. But pretty much for the last nine years, we've had every other Sunday to sleep until we couldn't sleep anymore. As the kids have gotten older their morning needs have changed, from needing a bottle and new diaper, to needing a bowl of cereal and a reminder to use the potty, to just needing someone to referee impending quarrels over who gets to use the computer and who gets to play GameCube (I know, can you believe we let our kids do those things on Sundays? We are terrible role models.) It is a rare occassion when they leave Mike and I to sleep. (I say Mike and I, but for the most part, Mike can sleep through a train wreck unless I hit him and tell him to get up.)
So this morning, imagine my surprise to wake around 8:00am and find all three of my children quietly playing games. "Hey mom" is all I get as I pass them to go downstairs and get the paper, no barrage of questions or tattling on each other. When I get to the kitchen, I laugh out loud. Apparently, my oldest had made breakfast for everyone. Cereal for Cannon, as he can't reach it on his own, and scrambled eggs for him and Emme. Not only that, but the table was cleared and they were now playing nicely with each other. They had even let the dog out. When did they decide they didn't need us anymore? For that matter, when did they become responsible? My heart pangs a little at the thought of my children being closer to adults than babies. At the same time, I did a little hop, skip, and jump as I went back to bed. Life is sweet.