Pushing it

Last night I dreamed that someone was pushing me over and over. I woke up with my husband's elbow in that sweet spot between my lower back and right shoulder blade. I pushed it off and rolled over. 20 minutes later the alarm went off. As I slowly got out of bed (I've never been one to bound in the morning) I heard, "Why are you so grumpy this morning, Ann?" Now, nothing is more capable of making me grumpy than being accused of it - so I respond with impatience and grumpiness, "I'm not grumpy. I'm tired." Has he not met me?

Fast forward through my shower and I am getting breakfast for my 5 year old.
His hair is standing straight up and his robe is hanging off one shoulder. He decides that he must rearrange the creative little creatures he made last night before he sits to his toast and sausage. One of them refuses to hang on the back of the chair where he wants it. I bend at the waist and offer a suggestion of a modification for better hanging. I envision my own mother's earnest face peering down at me as a child - wanting only to help. I hear my own 5 year old voice when my son says, "No! Mom!" and he dissolves into tears.
I put my hand on his back and gently steer him to his place at the table and softly chide, "ok, Grumpy Gus, have a seat."
He looks me full in the face and says, "I'm not grumpy but you saying that I am, makes me sad."
How right you are, Little One.
I apologized immediately.