WARNING

It is not safe to sleep around me. The exception to this would be, of course, my children and their blessed snoozes- they can sleep all they want. Their sporadic slumber (or lack thereof) is, in fact, the reason the rest of you ARE NOT SAFE.

How can I put this nicely? When I see anyone sleeping peacefully and/or for extended periods ("extended" meaning more than 3 hours in a row), I want to wake them up. Sometimes violently.

Here's an example: Gus, a.k.a. "the Fat One." Gus is a champion sleeper, as all cats are. Here's the thing, though- while some other cat around here has the good sense to do it in the basement during the day where I can't see him, Gus drapes his ample self over the back of the couch, pools across the floor, or lounges on my bed:

Doesn't he just look so comfortable? So peaceful? So WELL-RESTED?!! This makes me hate him. It also makes me want to shove him off of whatever piece of furniture he's occupying or punch him in the furry noggin for being so mean and flaunting the fact that he can sleep whenever he wants to, thanks very much. You bastard.*

Cats the worst for this, because I need sleep so much more than they do. I try to be understanding of how Gus' busy eating/pooping/bathing schedule must exhaust him, but I have very little sympathy for him. Even people who need sleep are not completely safe, however. My poor husband might have worked until 3 in the morning, but when I go into the bedroom at noon and he's still there in bed, I might sometimes get just a little bit jealous. It's not his fault his schedule allows him to sleep more than I can- or that my sleep is interrupted every few hours. Still, after a really bad night... mumblemumblemumble

Please note that I have never actually punched any innocent sleepers in the head. Nor have I kicked them in the kidneys, pushed them out of bed, or made a very loud noise and then run away. I just thought I'd warn you all that it could happen.

* Jerk sleeps a lot AND makes me write run-on sentences.

A Comb and a Brush, and a Brain Made of Mush

I was going to write something nice for you today, I really was. I even put some thought into it, if you can believe that. But you, my friend, are out of luck.

We had another one of those nights that leaves what's left of my brain in a puddle of mush, sloshing around in the lower half of my cranium; the top half, incedentally, is left empty, and the thoughts I manage to produce are getting distracted by the echo, so even they're not working for me. Echo! Echo! Echo!

So yeah, long night. Simon decided to stay up to keep me company until 10, because goodness knows I can't be left ALONE if AJ's at work. He finally went to bed (with his new friend "Blue," who was to be the topic of a far more coherent and entertaining post), I tidied up a bit, got changed, climbed into bed, and- "WAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

...and spent the next 30 minutes trying to get Ike back to sleep. No, not back to sleep- he was perfectly happy to sleep with his dear little noggin resting on my chest while I sat in the rocking chair. The problem was getting him to stay asleep when I had the audacity, the sheer nerve, to put him down. I even tried taking him to bed with me, forgetting that he's a BIG boy now, being one and all, and he's not into that anymore.

So then I rocked him again and cried because he's growing up, and we won't have these cuddly times forever, you know! I desperately tried to press that moment into my brain while simultaneously losing my mind from exhaustion. Perverse? Perhaps.

So then I put him down, he cried, I left, and he settled down at last. I closed my eyes, and AJ came home. I muttered several things at him, none of which I can remember now (and which almost certainly didn't make sense, anyway), and fell asleep. Some time later, just before AJ came to bed, Ike started crying again. He had a bottle, and we all went to sleep. Until Simon woke up screaming for the third night in a row. He went back to sleep on the couch, and I went back to bed. Again.

After that, it was smooooooth sailing- Ike was only up one more time before he woke up for the day at 5-something, bright and cheerful. "Hi, Mommy! I had a FAN-STINKING-TASTIC night! What's wrong? Why are you crying? Silly Mommy!"

So yeah, me and my brain of mush are just going to have to save that good post for another day. You know, whatever it was that I was thinking about. I can't remember.