“I think it’s time for you to wake up now, daddy.”
<- streeetch out so that you are double parked in dad's space AND the middle of the bed. ->
Archive for sleep
Sometimes, Sawyer asks to snuggle. Most of the time, this means he wants to sit in my lap. I then carefully nudge him to talk, only to discover that he isn’t upset about anything. He just needed to be held for a while. I would put down a fire extinguisher and let the stove burn if Sawyer asked me for a snuggle. The snuggles mean everything to me.
Yesterday, Sawyer informed me as he left for school that he would need a snuggle when he got home. “This snuggle needs to be under the hot blanket.” Sawyer adores our nearly dead electric blanket (Gimli!) and I really need to get Sawyer his own electric blanket before next winter.
Sawyer arrived home from school and we tucked ourselves in my bed. Sawyer asked to play his current game obsession on the iPad. I decided that this snuggle wasn’t stress related and we proceeded to chat about his game.
“Do you know what cobblestones are?”
“Well, they’re bunches of rocks all stuck together and I have 37 of them.”
“Cool. What do you do with them.”
“Nothing right now. I need to kill chickens to make more arrows.”
“Can you catch and breed chickens or do you have to hunt them.”
“Well, this one time, I captured wolves and blah-blah-blah.”
I still don’t know if you can have a farm in the game. The warm blanket and Sawyer’s soft voice lulled me to sleep. The next thing I remember is SuperTween’s face four inches from mine as she loudly announced, “I texted dad and told him you are sleeping.”
“I will see you in a few hours.”
“Actually, I looked at the clock when I went in your room last night and it was 3. From now on, I’ll go to your bed at 3.”
“I will see you at 3.”
“You’re getting better at this.”
As I tucked the edges of the blanket that would soon be kicked to the floor under Sawyer, he asked me to lean close so that he could tell me something important. I tilted my head and put my ear near his face. Sawyer popped his arms out of the blanket cocoon and turned my face so that our noses were touching.
“Sweetie, mommy hears with ears.”
“I already know that mom. I need to tell you something now.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Mom, I never fall asleep. I just sit in the bed waiting for it to be time to get out of bed.”
“I understand. Maybe you should make up a pretend story in your head while you are waiting. Put yourself in the book you just finished reading.”
I put his clothes for morning in the cubby with his backpack. I put snacks in backpacks and checked the seasonal appropriateness of the outfit that his big sister had chosen for the next day. I went back to check on Sawyer.
The blanket was on the floor and Sawyer was snoring like a sleeping dragon.
Sometime between midnight and two in the morning, Sawyer crawls in our bed to snuggle, twirl and steal blankets. It’s something he has always done. The only change in this routine is that for the past year, instead of immediately crawling between us, he stands beside sleeping Dad and softly whispers, “Can I sleep in your bed?” Now, Sawyer’s changing the routine again.
“When I come downstairs tonight, can I get in bed without asking Daddy?”
“Of course you can. Just crawl in and go back to sleep.”
“When I try to ask Daddy, he always jumps out of bed and goes, ‘Gah! What? Gah!‘ Then, you get woke up and I don’t like you getting woke by Daddy going ‘Gah!’ so, I think I should skip Daddy.”
“I agree baby.”
Part two aka The next day:
“Can we get a dumbwaiter?”
“Why do we need a dumbwaiter?”
“If we had a dumbwaiter, I could ride to your bed instead of walking down the stairs in the dark.”
“Maybe Daddy should put a laundry chute in and you could just slide to the basement every night.”
“That sounds awesome! Tell Daddy to build that! Today!”
When my children were babies, my recurring nightmare was a toddler knocking the car into gear and the car rolling away while I stood beside it, holding an infant in a car seat.
Sunday night, I dreamed all night about trying to escape rising waters. At some point in the dream, I became separated from the rest of the family and the dream became a dual find everyone and get to safety nightmare.
Monday night, I dreamed that Manhattan was a Roger Dean style island and it broke off the teeny, tiny stem that secured it to land. My nightmare was the island sinking along with everyone on it.
I’m very, very tired.
My feet are perpetually cold. While it’s not a new development that would warrant sudden concern about my circulation, my uncomfortably icy feet have gotten progressively more noticeable as the clock spins faster. Frozen feet are at their most annoying when I am trying to sleep. I toss and turn to get comfortable enough to fall asleep only to be awakened repeatedly in the night by my frosty toes.
Your significant other might claim that they will always allow you to rub your cold feet against their warm skin. Don’t be fooled. There will come a day when the slightest touch of your frigid toes causes the normal foot temperature person to coil up as far away from you as possible in the limited space of your shared bed.
Last week, I pulled my I-must-not-have-lifted-with-my-knees heating pad out and put it under my feet. Several hours later, I awoke in the same ‘two pillows propping up my head for an hour of tv watching’ position that I was in when I slipped the heating pad under my feet. Warm feet are the magical sleep switch that I have been searching for my entire life.
I’m still going to put my cold feet on Doug’s warm skin when he dozes off mid-conversation. That never stops being funny.