I need sleep.
UNINTERRUPTED sleep.
Jason, fortunately, is a wonderful sleeper. He’s a Power Sleeper. He will go from giggling to snoring in about 2.5 seconds. And he’s out for the night.
Drew, on the other hand, is part Power Sleeper, part Broadway star. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, we will be awakened by him humming a tune and occasionally bursting into song. It used to be cute little children’s songs like The Itsy Bitsy Spider, sung at the top of his lungs, with some vibrato added to the last note (a.k.a. The Big Finish). But the other night, apparently, he was a cowboy. And on a steel horse he rides. And he’s wanted: dead or alive. And he even sings his own backup! “Wanted…” (“Waaan-teeed!”) “Dead or aliiiiiive…” Then, after The Big Finish: “Mix ninety-eight point fiiiiive!” (In case we were wondering exactly on which radio station he heard the song on that particular day.) And just when we think the show is over, we hear him segue into “Shakira, Shakira!” And I can only assume he pushes his pajama bottoms down over his hips and some belly-dancing takes place. I don’t know. All I know is I WANT QUIET!!! So, I stand outside his door and demand it. For fifteen minutes. Do you know how long fifteen minutes is? Well, it’s twice as long at 3 a.m. as it is at 3 p.m., I'll have you know.
Last night, it seems my brain was on Karaoke Alert. Paul came to bed around 1 a.m., and my first instinct when I felt someone getting into the bed was to immediately sit up and protest. “Oh, NO!!! Not again! Drew?!” and I start feeling around to see where he is. I find a head and pat the top to make the identification. Yes! The prickly buzz cut! It’s the Singing Sensation himself! What, am I going to get a serenade tonight?
I say: “Drew, go back to bed!”
Paul, in a stage whisper: “Karen! What’s wrong with you? It’s me! I’m just coming to bed!”
More patting, more proof. I know that head anywhere. He can’t fool me by calling me by my first name!
“DREW. Go back to bed right now.”
Paul: “Karen! It’s me...” then, sheepishly, “...your husband.”
Finally I comprehend that it is, in fact, Paul coming to bed. And Drew is asleep in his own bed. And we both burst into laughter.
Remember the days when you could go to sleep when you were exhausted (from a day of, oh, I don’t know, doing nothing that even vaguely resembles the rigors of parenting) and you’d sleep like a rock? Yeah, well, if you do, I certainly don't want to hear from you. Misery loves company.
Jason, fortunately, is a wonderful sleeper. He’s a Power Sleeper. He will go from giggling to snoring in about 2.5 seconds. And he’s out for the night.
Drew, on the other hand, is part Power Sleeper, part Broadway star. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, we will be awakened by him humming a tune and occasionally bursting into song. It used to be cute little children’s songs like The Itsy Bitsy Spider, sung at the top of his lungs, with some vibrato added to the last note (a.k.a. The Big Finish). But the other night, apparently, he was a cowboy. And on a steel horse he rides. And he’s wanted: dead or alive. And he even sings his own backup! “Wanted…” (“Waaan-teeed!”) “Dead or aliiiiiive…” Then, after The Big Finish: “Mix ninety-eight point fiiiiive!” (In case we were wondering exactly on which radio station he heard the song on that particular day.) And just when we think the show is over, we hear him segue into “Shakira, Shakira!” And I can only assume he pushes his pajama bottoms down over his hips and some belly-dancing takes place. I don’t know. All I know is I WANT QUIET!!! So, I stand outside his door and demand it. For fifteen minutes. Do you know how long fifteen minutes is? Well, it’s twice as long at 3 a.m. as it is at 3 p.m., I'll have you know.
Last night, it seems my brain was on Karaoke Alert. Paul came to bed around 1 a.m., and my first instinct when I felt someone getting into the bed was to immediately sit up and protest. “Oh, NO!!! Not again! Drew?!” and I start feeling around to see where he is. I find a head and pat the top to make the identification. Yes! The prickly buzz cut! It’s the Singing Sensation himself! What, am I going to get a serenade tonight?
I say: “Drew, go back to bed!”
Paul, in a stage whisper: “Karen! What’s wrong with you? It’s me! I’m just coming to bed!”
More patting, more proof. I know that head anywhere. He can’t fool me by calling me by my first name!
“DREW. Go back to bed right now.”
Paul: “Karen! It’s me...” then, sheepishly, “...your husband.”
Finally I comprehend that it is, in fact, Paul coming to bed. And Drew is asleep in his own bed. And we both burst into laughter.
Remember the days when you could go to sleep when you were exhausted (from a day of, oh, I don’t know, doing nothing that even vaguely resembles the rigors of parenting) and you’d sleep like a rock? Yeah, well, if you do, I certainly don't want to hear from you. Misery loves company.
posted by Karen Wednesday, August 09, 2006
3 Comments:
If Santa Claus could bring a good night's sleep for Christmas, I think any parent would have it as #1 on the list. :)
I think the story about your husband getting into bed is missing something. Didn't you ask " Who is this?", which your husband's reply was " Who is this? WHo do you think it is!" I really hate that UPS guy.
Hi, Paul! C'mon, what do you have against the UPS guy? (Or should the question be, what do *I* have against the UPS guy? hee hee...)
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