November 19, 2003

• Sleep.
  (or the lack thereof.)

  
  

  Aaah. The kids are napping. Well, they might not be, but I chucked them both in their beds and threatened them with grievous bodily harm if I heard one leetle PEEP out of  them (the baby gets the tone of my voice). Yes, I sound like my mother. Both are crabby wee besoms and I am well free of them for a couple of hours. Or I might just tie them up and leave them outside for the wolves. Haven't decided.

  
  

  This whole house is seriously sleep deprived. I don't mean the kind where you are a little foggy for a day, because you tossed and turned all night, or you had a few jars, I mean the kind where you fantasize about sleep. You lust after sleep. And all things related,such as big featherbeds and breakfast trays for a glorious breakfast in bed, plumpy pillows,and ear plugs. You'd rather have 2 extra hours in bed asleep than sex, than chocolate, than a cabana boy wearing a sarong and holding an umbrella drink.

  
  

  It all affects us differently.

  
  

  The Boy is sleep deprived because he has to get up every morning at 5am, so he can faff about for 2 hours having breakfast and staring into the distance. He doesn't have to iron anything,or make his lunch, the resident maid does that for him. He just hates to rush about in the morning. But since he doesn't get home till 8 or so, and doesn't really unwind till 11 or so, he is running on about a 2 hour sleep deficit (for him). As a result, he gets really really  S     L     O     W. As in, anything you want done, doesn't. Or takes four times as long, since he keeps forgetting where he was going and what he was doing and why he was doing it in the first place. Conversations are like speaking underwater using snorkles.

  
  

  Mousey wakes up with Dad, and has had some bad nightmares, and so hasn't had good solid blocks of sleep. As a result, Mouse gets whiny and dramatic. Everything is a big goddam deal. Every setback becomes the end of the free world as we know it. Every bump or scrape becomes a tragic disability she must bravely overcome. And since I am the kind of mother who requires the sight of blood or bone before I even reach for the Bandaids, you can imagine how well this goes over. Playmates are all stinky, or mean or stealing things. All her clothes are only fit for circus clowns and the only reason I want her to wear them is so she will be pointed out on the street and laughed at. Everything  foodwise is treated with suspicion that it is poisoned (don't for one moment think I haven't contemplated it lately) and only given to her on purpose, to. make. her. cry. That's just the way it is.

  
  

  Cherub gets woken up by Miss Happy (see above) and  just grizzles non-stop all the damn time. She isn't happy sitting, she isn't happy lying, she isn't happy being held. I don't know if she's happy lying in her room screaming with the door closed, but hell, who cares? She is teething and waking a couple of times a night. Now, okay, I get that it must be painful, but can anyone tell me why it's only painful at NIGHT? Do the little toothypegs go to the Bahamas from 9am to 9pm? I thought not. It's just more fun to be miserable with company. Then you can take everyone else with you.

  
  

  And me. Oh Lordie. I get cranky (obviously). I start throwing things at Dr. Phil when he suggests 'gentle ways to parent'. I take the dog poop monuments on my front lawn as a personal affront and plot to send the poop back to the owners via registered mail. I regard Mouse with unending irritation as she goes through her Diva antics,and the baby spends an awful lot of time staring at the ceiling of her room. The postman who only delivers our mail on sunny days finds me tapping my foot ourside the mailbox, and the well-meaning friends who ask me to come to movies that start past 7pm get sardonic laughter. The housework just isn't enough fun for me to do it, and hell, I am a volunteer after all. It's just going to get all messed up in twn minutes anyway, so why not skip that extra step? Toys get thrown into giant Hefty bags and dragged to the kerb while my children sit weeping on the sidewalk. Suit jackets get thrown viciously into the bottom of the closet since they obviously don't belong on hangers. All laundry gets done together - because it all lies on the floor in stanky old heaps, so again, let's get efficient and skip the middle step of sorting.

  
  

  In short I am mean to other people's kids, other people's pets and....other people. I am mean to my own people.

  
  

  I don't think I'll be heading to the mall today.

  
  

  Remind me, only 19 more sleeps until holidays,right? Only 19 more sleeps until I descend upon the loving bosom of my family. God help them. I hope they are well-rested.

  • 10:11 pm
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