Can't Blame Her This Time

(Delayed post from June 19th)

Finally, I laid down, bone-tired, as they say. Long day of errands, wagon-pulling to parks, general pivoting between the polar opposite requests and preferences of my 2 charges. Ankle still slightly swollen and achy from a freak fall a few weeks ago.

Solid sleep was imperative. First, to ensure an increase in patience from the day before, but also because today is Michael's birthday. Surprises and other preparations must be complete by the time he gets home in the early afternoon.

I laid down and was immediately reminded of one of my early mistakes of the day. In my summertime laissez faire attitude, I did not stop Cate from eating a bagel in my bed. Her excuse, while it would not hold during a school year schedule, seemed plausible on a vacation morning. She needed to eat it on our bed so she could continue to watch junk TV on Qubo, while sewing 100 little pillows out of scraps of material. I still try and understand why we need so many colorful little puffy rectangles when I know of no head small enough to find comfort on them. But to Cate, it is necessary. And I'm sure she was trying to impress me with her industrious mini-me multi-tasking.

The fallout from the bagel was downy and soft at one point, but prickly and sand-like 13 hours later. Yes, it could have been anticipated and cleaned up. But I am not a bed maker. It seems fruitless to me. If Michael leaves before we roll out of the sheets, they stay tangled until bedtime again. So I forgot about the bagel crumbs until I sank into them last night.

I brushed away as many as I could, but in my state of exhaustion, did not have what it took for any thorough eradication. Once I made peace with the crumbs, pretending they were actually sand, that I had been to the beach and so the friction was good, I read and then ran through before-sleep random thoughts. This takes a while. I know I fell asleep for a short while.

Then the sky cracked - light was not the exception, but the rule for a few hours. Fat, rapid drops pounded the roof outside while inside looked like the sunniest day. Thunder threatened and growled, shook the windows in sudden and close swipes. Between, with the pillow over my head, I could block out the constant lightening and doze a bit. But only seconds, maybe a minute would pass before another smash that bolted me upright, out of the bagel leavings. After each, I waited for Cate and Addie to come rushing in, one of them crying, if not both.

But they did not come. Today Cate said she heard it, but that before bed dad told her to expect some thunder and lightening. That's all it took for her to make peace with it - forewarning. Must put that in my bag of tricks.

So I flipped and flopped, assaulted by noise, light and carb crumbles until the storm wore itself out. I thought that finally I'd fall into a renewing sleep.

Alas. Michael fell asleep first. He doesn't snore in the typical cartoonish way, but lets his exhale out with a little "PfP!" puff of his lips. Quiet and subtle, but rhythmic enough to demand attention. I shuffle around, try to get him to change position so I cannot hear it anymore.

Just as I am working on that, I do what I should not do. I look at the clock. 2:40am. The intake of the hour makes it swiftly from my brain to my stomach. My stomach can tell time in hours since it's been satiated. Hunger. Sleep-depriving hunger that is derived from being sleep-deprived. So unfair.

I don't know how long that lasted or when Michael stopped his birthday eve sleep-puffing because I did eventually fall asleep. Just before the alarm rang for me to get up and get to the gym before Michael has to leave for work.

As I yawned and lifted my meager weights at the gym, the justified haze lifted as a realization was foisted on me - I had a sleepless night - but my little non-sleeper parasomnia/apnea girl had NOTHING to do with it. She, her sister, her father, caught all the zz's necessary.

Good morning. Happy birthday. No, thanks, no bagel for me. Here are your surprises and cakes. Good night. Oh, and I love you through your crumbs and pfp sounds. Straight through.