the trouble with sleep
by bam
if we were in the tv listings, it’s not clear whether we’d be pegged as tragedy or comedy. let’s call it the tragi-comedy that wouldn’t quit.
it started, as many prime time episodes often do, innocently enough. the antagonist (that would be me) duly bathed, and read and prayed with sir protagonist (that’s him up above, but that’s getting way ahead of the script).
there was the usual kiss on the head, the “sleep tight,” as sheets were pulled and tucked one last time, the “see you in the morning,” tossed over the shoulder as mama antagonist sauntered out of the room, hit the hall light and thought she’d have, oh, maybe an hour to herself.
she had barely rounded the kitchen corner, barely wrapped her hands on the popcorn she’d be popping, when the first plaintive wail came wending down the stairs.
something about a back rub.
antagonist, being mean, shot back a simple: “go to sleep.”
back rub plea, repeated.
teetering between tenderness and needing to cork the noise, mean mama softens–nay, relents–and ascends for what at best might be termed a 15-second swish of palm to little back.
just enough time for little mastermind to toss his next attempt at barring sleep. this time something about being lonely. needing cheetah. mama rolls her eyes. in the dark, he must have missed that.
she retreats to office. he, apparently, set off to nighttime jungle, where, big hunter he, he procured the big cat of his desires. which is what you see above. the trophy moment, caught on film. marlin perkins couldn’t be more proud.
if memory serves me right (these nighttime dramas make me foggy-headed, they twist and go so long), there were these added bumps in the weary road to sleep: the cheetah, it seems, was not enough. soon all the friends were needed. which, then, precipitated the problem of needing sleeping room for entire mattress menagerie.
at quarter ’til eleven–egad, if i believed in caps, those last three words would have been big and raised–his animals apparently lined neatly in a row, stretched from one end of the bed to the other, young sir protagonist tiptoed in the dark to where i sat typing. he sidled up quite softly, whispered in my ear, so sweet he took my breath away: “i have a little problem. i have a pillow for all my friends, but now there’s no pillow for me.” dropping his whisper even lower, he offered his solution: “i’ll grab a little couch pillow.”
as he wandered out for pillow fetching, he turned to ask me this: “what does cardinal start with? what does st. louis cardinals start with?” the boy is learning letters, and apparently at that late hour, all barricades are lifted, and thoughts just flow like cars cruising late-night streets.
yes, yes, at last, the house was quiet. (but not before two music boxes crashed onto the ground at an hour i won’t disclose, promptly–i assure you–propelling me off my chair and up the stairs to see what the bleep was the matter. what in heaven’s name? was he cranking lullabyes for pillow-hogging critters? alas, i did not ask. i had firm tucking to attend to.)
yes, yes, with that crescendo, our little drama ends. the late night rambler, cat in arms, finally quelled his rambling soles deep beneath the covers.
i never did get mad. it was all too charming, a charm perhaps only a mother could love.
i can hear you shrieking. i might hear you dialing dcfs, the folks in illinois who protect little ones, god bless them deeply.
but before the sirens blare, before they cart me off, might we pause and ponder just why the dark abyss of sleep feels so deep and bottomless to a child who clings to light in any form? why some nights is the settling to bed so agitated an exercise that all are worn and wounded before it winds to its hushed-at-last conclusion?
in my house, both boys come by disdain for sleep, well, rather honestly. naturally, in fact. i would be one who, if she could, would round the clock with nary but a nap. i love early morning. i love late night. that leaves little room for dozing in the middle.
the trouble with sleep, as i see it, is you get so little done. i find every hour has its charms. deep down, i think, i hate to miss a minute of this blessed thing called life.
and so, my little children just might think the same. no wonder i was charmed by the litany of pleas that kept the cheetah hunter prowling deep into the dark of night.
and thank heaven for kindergarten in the afternoon. while he sleeps off his prowl, i get the morning to myself.
pssst….it’s not always so drawn out. this particular protracted bedtime was truly made for tv. sometimes these episodes simply shout to be recorded. and you can always change the channel. though, of course, i hope you’ll stay tuned. in fact, i know there are other bedtime dramas out there. any takers in the fine art of telling bedtime tales?
pull up a chair 
Now, this is hardly a drama, if you weren’t screaming. You strike me as the prize-winning mama to the light-clinging boy here. We have had years of bedtime drama, with one child who loves snuggling, light, books, stories, personally tailored made up songs, daytime, awakeness, and above all, the opportunity for his mind to spin and whirl, unencumbered by regular rhythms of resting and waking, without slowing down, ever. That child is very like his father who has always wished for 36 hour days in order to sleep less and do more. That child has used every trick in the book to stay awake. He’ll lie in bed wiggling his finger and watching it, just to stay awake. After years of trauma (that is to say, much screaming by me) over the issue–I’m a big believer in A Regular Bedtime–I have now realized that the more I fight it the worse it gets. Amazing how some things can take one eight years to learn. So our strategy now is pretty much to ignore all the shenanigans and let child #1 manage his own sleeping within the already well-known constraints we set, bedtime routine and regular lights out, etc. The old “they’ll sleep when they’re tired” thing has never, ever been true at our house. In fact the tireder they become the more likely they are to think of new tricks to stay awake yet longer.Now his little sister, always a great bedtimer since infancy (we sleep trained her religiously starting at three months), has lately picked up a few tricks from her brother. She wants to bring books to bed to read in the dark (and they don’t even use a flashlight here, bam). She told me last night that she’ll wake up in the night to get a drink, then go get her brother because she won’t want to go alone, and is that okay? Sometimes she’s Goldilocks and we find her sleeping in her brother’s top bunk bed. Sometimes she wakes up in the night and has a tantrum, just for the heck of it. The more we try to help her through tenderly the louder and more belligerent she gets, just for the heck of it. I asked her, one morning after such a 3 a.m. performance, what in the world was that about? Oh, mama, I don’t know. I won’t do it again, she says.What I don’t understand is, why doesn’t everyone love sleep as much as I do? All my life I’ve loved it. A nap in a sunny patch on the couch on a winter’s afternoon. Crawling under cold covers at night and drifting off to blessed mental rest. Who wouldn’t love this? Who are these people at my house who refuse to sleep? How can they possibly have come from me? And anyway, how am I supposed to get them to school on time?
I’m with you, jcv. Sleep is a precious commodity for me. I love the nap on the couch when I can get it. Love climbing into crisp sheets and snuggling under the down. What is it with kids not wanting to sleep? I was always very diligent to keep my girls on a regular sleep schedule when they were babies, but once they were too old for naps, bedtime was always a challenge to my patience. My oldest had one bad dream and that ruined bedtime for a very long while. She was my ‘practice child’ and by the time the next one arrived, I had bedtime down to a science, but even that one hates going to bed. She can be so tired that she can barely stand up, but still fights crawling under the covers. I’m also with you, bam … thank heavens for afternoon kindergarten!
I have to admit that I am the self proclaimed bedtime nazi in my house. My children have very different needs in relation to sleep. My son has always required less than average. He wakes on his own about 6 am, so I can be a little less firm about his bedtime. My daughter (younger) on the other hand is a complete bear if she doesn’t get 10 hours of sleep. She complained bitterly that she was “not tired” many nights. I retorted “that’s ok, you don’t have to sleep, but you DO have to stay in your bed. She would call for me in the morning and tell me how she was up ALL night. But I would congratulate her on staying in bed and that maybe someday she would get some sleep. I have to say, she is earning a later bedtime now that she is 7!As for me, I love to sleep and can fall deeply asleep as soon as the children are settled. I too LOVE crisp fresh sheets – that laundry theme again.Wishing you all sweet dreams and minimal sleep struggles.
hmmm. maybe if i had crisp fresh sheets, i too might love to sleep. maybe i need to attend to that. i feel a laundry experiment in the not-so-distant future: perhaps i’ll wash with eau de lavender, hang on line to dry, underneath the sun, and then for pure scientific purpose iron the whole dang sheet. yes, yes. sprinkle with lavender water. breathe in the sizzle of the steam as the iron rolls out wrinkles. mmm, i’m getting sleepy just thinking about it……maybe if my bed was beckoning wth gentle fields of lavender and crispness, i too would want to climb right in…..stay tuned for laundry 201. an upper level course.