T-Plus Four Days: 7am

Ode to my Sleep

I’ll bite: It’s hard to catch a breath of thought, let alone draft, edit, format and post a blog post, when I have a small child dangling off of the ends of my arm. But lets try, eh? I miss sleep. Eight-ten hours of undisturbed sleep is fast becoming a fond memory of far-off happier days. That’s kind of a big thing because I turn into a crotchety zombie when I go without.

Poop.

As an example of this, there’s last night: After a nine o’clock dinner, Caira stayed playing with her toys until about 11pm. I was about to pack her off to bed for kicking Garrett in the face (utilizing the Chen style of Taijiquan) when grandma called. After that she was packed off to bed for fighting with Garrett.

Garrett? You’d ask me.
Garrett? I’d ask you back.
Yup, Garrett, you would reply.
Well, I’d tell you, Garrett was up past midnight because he decided it was playtime. I wanted to smother him, I’d continue sotto voce. I was ready and prepared to smother him, pillow in hand. Mariah lay there, silent but radiating tacit approval. But in the end, I’d wearily finish, Garrett was just too sickeningly adorable to smother.
Oh, really?
Yeah. He was all giving kisses, laughing, hugging me and all a-saying “daddy” in a voice that just melted even my stoniest of stony hearts.

Garrett eventually melted off to sleep from the warmth of our love. Then Caira burst in to the room crying that “someone is sitting on my bed!” Fifty-fifty that it was either the Ghost of Prospect Hill investigating our new residents or leg cramps. She wedged herself in next to her mom and poor Mark, being perceptive of the feeling of exclusion generated by Caira repeatedly kicking me in the stomach so I’d move over, retired to Caira’s bed.

And then Caira had a nighttime accident. Yes. One of those accidents. By then it was morning and now there she is watching Boomerang, oblivious to my occasional hateful glare in her direction while I compose a poison pen letter to her circadian rhythms, biology, psychology and possible status as an object of fascination for our household ghost.

by Mark on
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