I have a problem, which is preventing me from getting any sleep.
My problem’s name is Thing 2.
Every now and then, Thing 2 likes to cycle through a phase that Hubs and I like to call SLEEPING LIKE HELL.
(Can I say that on this blog? I really do try to keep things at a PG rating here, but our total sleep deprivation sometimes pushes us straight to the threshold of PG-13. I apologize if your seven-year-old is reading this post over your shoulder and he just saw the word HELL spelled out in all capital letters; there isn’t any polite way to phrase how we are sleeping at night these days.)
Last night, Thing 2 got up at 1:15, but really? Well, I guess it wasn’t so much LAST NIGHT, as it was THIS MORNING. 1:15 in the morning. He came blasting into our bedroom, to announce in his loud, outdoor voice that SOMEONE had knocked his train off the tracks, but he was fixing it, and everything should be up and running momentarily, if the passengers could just wait a couple more minutes, and that no tickets would be refunded, because the problem was BEING FIXED. Naturally, I was jerked out of a dead sleep. I had been dreaming that a bunny in our backyard had twenty-nine baby bunnies, and I was trying to get them all cleaned up and tucked into a giant bed.
When I got my eyes open enough to realize what was going on beyond baby bunnies everywhere, I saw that Thing 2’s bedroom light was on, and he was — INDEED! — working on getting a derailed, remote-controlled train back on the tracks, and… ultimately… back on schedule.
As an engineer, he’s very dedicated to the customer satisfaction ratings of his passengers.
And I’ll just go on record to announce that it was ME who derailed the tail end of the train. I tip-toed into Thing 2’s bedroom at 9:00 last night to make sure he was covered up in his sleep, before I got into bed, and my foot bumped a passenger car. It fell off the rails, and I wasn’t interested in rescuing stranded passengers in a dark bedroom. I figured getting that lone car back on the tracks was a job that could be done in the morning.
In the morning… when the sun was up and it WASN’T 1:15.
I shuffled into the kid’s bedroom and said, “It’s the middle of the night! You’re going back to bed!”
He insisted that it was morning, and that he’d really appreciate a bowl of oatmeal, a peeled banana, and a cup of coffee with sugar and cream. The only thing he DIDN’T ask for was today’s edition of the Wall Street Journal and the TV turned to Fox News.
I got him get back into his bed, where he stayed… WIDE AWAKE… until he finally passed out at 5:30 this morning.
I have no words, except this:
Teaching PE today was a little hard. We played a baseball / hockey / soccer-combo game today, that was lively and required me to pitch. (Because really? A game in 2nd grade PE will last through the entire day and through the entire night, if I let a 2nd grader pitch a baseball where other 2nd graders are required to hit it. There is not enough patience in a Catholic monastery to get through that.) Since I was required to pitch all the pitches, while I diligently tried to get out of the way of swinging bats and swinging hockey sticks and soccer balls flying through the air, I never had a chance to lie down in the bleachers in my gym, cover up coat from the lost and found basket, and close my eyes while the children carried on in PE without me.
Well, it’s why this blog post is short and boring; some of us are going to bed earlier than we usually do at our elderly age!