Our first week back to school following our April break and we’ve all lived to tell the tale. ..not that I want to know what kind of tale the kids will be telling but I’m going to share about my sleep deprivation. Because who wants to jump into school every morning after a restful night’s sleep??? Apparently, sleep is overrated for the four to six year set.
I shouldn’t be so harsh. It’s not like the boys are misbehaving. For some reason both boys have been awake more than usual at night, and never at the same time so when Tony or I go downstairs to roll over or reposition one boy, the other is out cold…until approximately twenty minutes later when he needs to be rolled over or repositioned. What makes the process twice as difficult is the fact that the boys sleep downstairs at the back of the house while Tony and I sleep upstairs at the front of the house. It’s a lot of walking around at night, in the dark, and frankly I’m not sure how much more my toes or shins can handle.
How about I turn it into some poorly illustrated takes?? Seven things I keep tripping over at night. (Is there anything I can’t turn into quick takes?)
1. No sooner do I step out of bed then I lose my footing and almost die against the corner of the nightstand. Certainly my husband likes to keep the bedroom chilly, but ice? At this time of year??
Oh, wait no, it’s those clothes I keep meaning to put away but instead they keep multiplying in a huge pile right next to my bed. (I don’t want to share a picture of this. Some things need to stay private…because you don’t need to see my bra.)
2. Because we live in an old house with “charm” I need to walk through either Byron’s room on the girls’ room to get downstairs. I usually chose the girls room however, this week I was convinced someone left one of those bats with a nail sticking out of it on their floor.
Turns out it was actually BARBIE SHOES (which are similar to pairs of socks, since you can never find the mate after you wear them once.) Proof that stilettos, even when only half an inch long are bad for your feet.
3. Option B is to try crossing through Byron’s room which is where we keep our barbed wire.
I mean entire Lego collection. It’s actually more like a mine field covered with barbed wire, and the explosions are usually in the form of me cursing.
4. If I’ve made it into the upstairs hallway, I start to get overconfident and then I remember the stacks of plywood and razor blades I stacked near the banister as they tear into my flesh and destroy my toenails…or at least it feels that way.
As I massage my toes, I think that leaving these books I’m donating in the hallway was a TERRIBLE idea. Storing them in the damp basement is a perfectly acceptable alternative….that I will completely forget about come daybreak.
5. And then something swoops past me and I almost die / scream like a 1D fan because surely it’s a bat that’s going to attack me / get stuck in my hair and give rabies. Seriously, I’m screaming as I type this because I just. can’t. even.
And then it lands on my bare skin and I realize it’s just another obnoxious stink bug. (Those dudes will spend all the time in the world crapping up my curtains and what not, but won’t sit still for a picture. What a bunch of jerk bugs.)
6. As I plod down the stairs, hoping that my loud stomps are reassuring to which ever boy is calling, I walk into something at the bottom of the steps, nearly tripping. What the heck is in my way?? The only logical conclusion is, it’s a dead body.
I mean, a tumbling mat we’ve set up across the stairs to prevent our snoring dog from sleeping upstairs.
Oh yeah, right. The tumbling mat. Huh.
7. As I stumble into the boys room finally, the blue glow of Fulton’s bi-pap machine illuminates a large mass against the wall, but not before I walk straight into it, once again banging my already sore feet and legs. So this is where the cat/ intruders left a dead body!!!!
Thankfully, by this point I’m fully awake and realize there is no dead body, just a charging wheelchair.
In my fully alert state, I’m able to return to bed with not trouble and start to nod off just as the next request for rolling over begins. (This is why I dream about ranch houses.)
Yay coffee and older children who get themselves breakfast!
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