That makes me the worm.
My house is very small. Two rooms up, two rooms down. Officially only one and a half stories. In the top picture, the part of the house painted white is the main house, the original hundred year old temporary farmworker's shack. The barn red part, added later, is the kitchen, pipes-freezing bathroom, and porch. I think it's a cute little house. And I thought it was more than enough for my family of three.
It turns out, though, that with two girls sharing a bedroom, one an early bird and one a night owl, no house would be big enough.
Every single day starts with a conflict. My early bird, who unlike me doesn't savor quiet morning hours as the only one awake, does her best storming, tromping, clanking through the house. If that doesn't wake me and her sister, she comes and sits on my bed.
At first, I tried to accommodate her. As a single mother with limited resources and no support network, not only do I never* get time to myself, I also never get time one on one with each child. So even though the last thing I want to do early in the morning is socialize, I tried to see it as the chance to have some time with the 8yo while the 6yo slept. But on mornings after I have spent the night waking every two hours, I just can't force a smile on my face.
And that's where we are now. I've suggested all kinds of quiet morning activities to the 8yo. She loves to read, write, draw, and even knit. Yet, she loves even more having me over a barrel. Surprise.
*In fairness to the girls, they have reached an age where they can play together well and happily. So although I'm never alone in my house, I do get stretches of uninterrupted time here and there.