Tuesday, June 11, 2013

a letter to my children: about sleeping

My dear, dear, precious children:

There was a time when I begged God for you, with tears and the smallest faith that you would ever be real. Now I beg God that you would please, please, for the love of Him, go to sleep.

It's not that I don't love hanging out with you, I do! When the sun is up and I have lots of energy, almost half as much energy as you. I love to google answers to your questions and answer as many of them as I can before my brain short-circuits and I am forced to retreat, hands raised in surrender to your overwhelming curiosity. Sometimes, though, when the sun has been down for hours and hours, and you just keep pooping and stopping by my room for leisurely chats, I don't feel maybe as much like talking. In those moments, hours full of moments, I feel more like throwing Rage Grenades and making screeching emotional statements about what is your motivation because you are breaking me.

It might not be super clear to you, but by 10 or 11 pm, I am half the woman I was at 7 pm. I'm like some kind of morning glory that just wilts away in the moonlight. Like a morning glory that binge-watches Netflix and eats Oreos, and for some absurd reason, I do not wish to share my Oreos with you in the deep of the night. Go to sleep. Dear.

In retrospect, maybe we should have just built a ball pit instead of bedrooms with bunk beds, because the beds are the least likely place that you will sleep, in that weak moment when you quit hitting your sister long enough to fall asleep in a pile of toys in the corner. Listen, I respect your passion. You're all about justice, I get that. I'm just saying that maybe after a certain time, you might think about lying down and reading a book, maybe catch a little shuteye, instead of screaming into the hallway about who is threatening to hit whom and who muttered "tupid mom", because right now Mommy might not even intervene if you used the real bad words you learned from that Mario chat board. Mommy might just hand you a cigarette and walk away, right this minute, if it meant that maybe it would be quiet for more than 15 seconds.

In closing, you could not be more loved than you are. You are the absolute joy of my heart, the light of my life. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Now help me out with a SECOND best thing and go to sleep. Please. Please. 



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