So it’s 7:30 am on Saturday morning and I’m up as usual. I’m always up. Colin woke up at 6:30 and I gave him a bottle and rocked him for an hour in a desperate effort to get him to go to back to bed so I could get even just one more hour of sleep. Sometimes this tactic works sometimes it doesn’t.
At 7:00, Julia was up of course, being conditioned to be up at 6:30 on weekdays for the bus, she automatically gets up on the weekends. I guess that 1/2 hour is her ‘sleeping’ in.
Emma is still asleep, and would easily sleep until 9 or 10 if not provoked. She’s slow to get up on school days too. She’s a hardcore sleeper. Of course the fact that she’s the last one to quit playing in her bed at night and making last minute bathroom and ‘drink of water’ runs I’m sure contributes to her lethargy in the morning.
I’m on kid duty this morning ’cause Lyn was up on-and-off all night with Olivia who – of course – is now finally sleeping.
So, the interesting conundrum is that I’m now in possession of a fully -rested, fully-fueled, fully-recharged 15 month old that I need to somehow keep quiet.
It’s strange how kids have no concept of sleeping in, or the tremendous commodity that sleep evolves into as adults. When they’re up, they’re up. Laying around in bed, snoozing simply isn’t ‘fun’ or entertaining. Personally, I the importance of sleeping in should be taught in schools. One day they’ll be complaining when they have to get up and I’ll just tell them that I tried to teach them early on the importance – the sheer joy of sleep, but would only intone “You’re weird, Dad.”
It would seem that some lessons are invariably never learned, both in children and adults. Even after 7 years and 4 children, I still go to bed on Friday night harbouring some fruitless belief that come Saturday morning the planets will align and I will sleep unmolested until the unheard of hour of 9am. Nevermind that in my days back at the Youth Hostel in a house of 5 guys, you’d have thought the house was vacant if you stopped by anytime before 11am on a Saturday. Furthermore, I’d say you might be lynched if you were to hazard a phone call or attempt conversation with an occupant.
Whether I go to bed Friday night at a decent hour or stay out late with friends, I’m still doomed to be awakened at some ungodly hour the next day by my bright-eyed offspring looking for something fun to do or something to eat. Some might perhaps suggest this is in fact, karmic retribution for the “old days”.
It is to suggest, then, that children do indeed possess some magical powers, event though at times their actions would suggest far less. For instance, since I’ve sit down to write this, Colin has proceeded to get into every single thing he’s not supposed to – things he would leave alone 99% of the time, has attacked his sisters on several occasions – one can only assume to cause bodily harm, and run screaming through the halls for no apparent reason. One can only assume he’s using his ‘psychic mind link’ to pay me back for my years of dabauchery preceding his presence on the planet. Buddha has taught him this.
Emma (yeah, she’s up now, you can blame Colin for that) has interrupted me to present a discourse on how cool mechanical pencils are (You don’t have to sharpen them!) and Julia is hungry- I know this as she’s asked about breakfast 5 times in the span of 1/2 hour – she thinks she’s being subtle.
Magic powers indeed. Most impressive is the ‘power of sonic force’ they all possess, whereby the Gods use them to punish you for late nights of drunken revelry by facilitating them in the morning with metal toy xylophones, large dumptrucks to race about the hardwood floors, and massive buckets full of toys and blocks to spill about.
Children: Tools for Good or Evil? I say it’s a toss-up.