Through The Looking Glass

I once had an actress tell me that she was redoing her head shots and going for the A.J. Langer roles. I was like, even A.J. Langer isn’t getting the A.J. Langer roles. OK, I didn’t say that. But I should have.

I told Sam, “No more movies. You can watch more TV when Daddy gets home.” I had to repeat myself a few times, but he got it, he understood, he started looking around for something else to do.

Not five minutes later, Will walked in the door. He left work early because his allergies were making him crazy. I explained the situation to him, and after he changed into his pajamas he and Sam went upstairs and put on Marvel Alliance 2.

I don’t know if I said the magic words or if Will is a mind reader or what. Maybe Sam put a hex on us!

I have it on fairly good authority that the opening number of Oliver! was originally about sleep, but producers worried that audiences wouldn’t relate to a stage full of beds containing pre-pubescent boys in their pajamas, all singing to their master about more bed-time.

I may not have the details exactly right, but I’m certain it was something like that.

We have been a miserable, non-sleeping lot for the last several days. Will keeps waking up in the wee hours; whenever I wake up to pee, I can’t fall back to sleep; and Sam’s schedule got all borked due to his waking up fully if he finds the big bed empty of parents at, say, 4:30 in the morning.

It all came to something of a head Tuesday night, when Sam fell asleep for what I assumed was a nap at 5:00 in the afternoon and nothing we tried got him back up again. He slept through until, um, 2:00, and stayed in bed cuddling with me and trying to get back to sleep for a little over an hour. Will finally got up with him and I eventually fell back to sleep. We were all a wreck for most of yesterday. A WRECK. I let Sam take two short naps in the car, and we all went out for dinner (my father sent us money for Chinese food, yay!). Sam was like a zombie at the restaurant, and when we got home he started to cry until we asked if he’d like to go to bed, which perked him right up. He was asleep by 7:15 and Will and I went to bed at around 8:30.

Will got up at 5:00 and was rested enough to get some writing done; Sam got up at 6:00 and is in a fantastic, playful mood; and I got up at 7:00 and cannot really understand this odd feeling I’ve got–sort of the opposite of grumpy, if that makes any sense.

…and I was happy to do it. Here’s why:

We never gave Sam sippy cups or anything like them. He has a few melamine dishes but for the most part we give him the real stuff and have since he was, oh, about seven months old. I believe (and it is part of the Montessori educational philosophy, which is one of the many concepts that have been incorporated into my educational philosophy) that giving children real tools make them feel important and teaches them that they are part of the world. That doesn’t mean that I think using sippy cups teaches children that they are unimportant, but it was a priority for me to use real dishes with my kids. Besides, Sam wouldn’t touch sippies. It’s also worth mentioning that he’s always been careful with dishes, which I’m sure is just part of his personality. Some kids might require a lot more supervision with glass and china, and I know I might not be willing to put forth that effort. But the stars aligned and my ideals matched up with Sam’s needs/wants, so there you have it.

In nearly three years since he started eating solids and drinking water from a cup, three or four things have been broken. TOTAL. (Not counting stuff that Will and I have broken. Which is probably about the same. Making Sam our equal.)

So just now, when I gave him some ice in a bowl at the bar and he dropped it, shattering it all over the carpet? I was not thrilled at having to clean it up, but only because (nearly) seven months pregnant is really no time to be on hands and knees picking up shards of glass. I had to take a couple breaks. But a broken bowl is really not such a big deal.

***

I wrote this on Friday and didn’t publish it for fear that it comes across as smug rather than anecdotal. But now I’m thinking it comes across fine. I hope I’m right!

Step 1. You must be lazy about finishing things and frequently set aside projects in mid-assembly. For instance, if you were to make your son a quilt for his bed, you should not actually finish it for at least a year and a half, preferably two.

Step 2. You must somehow, inexplicably, run out of white thread. You are permitted to have as many odd shades of green as you wish, as long as you don’t have anything that can be used for 95% of your projects.

Step 3. While you are out of thread, you should decide to cut out and pin together as many of your backlogged projects as possible, so that they will be ready to go when you get around to buying thread.

Step 4. You will now run out of pins.

Step 5. (This one is absolutely essential!) You should consider, briefly, running to the store to buy more pins. You know, the store where they sell pins. AND ALSO THREAD.

Anything that results in this:

should be avoided. You’re welcome.

Me (in reference to cleaning): Windows and mirrors are the same thing as far as I’m concerned.

Will (deadpan): yeah, there’s always creepy things on the other side, staring at me!

This morning I was lying on my right side, fast asleep, when Sam woke me up by pulling on my shoulder. I turned and he was sitting up in the middle of the bed. As soon as he saw that I was awake, he pointed at Will’s empty side of the bed and said, “Hey! Where he go?”

As much as I dislike being woken up, there is really something to be said for still having a family bed. (Unless you are Will, who was awake for most of the night because of Sam getting in and out of bed to cuddle. Poor guy. At least it is Saturday.)