A Goodnight Sleep

The stage is set. My three youngest are crashed. Sheets, blankets, chairs and a broom handle create an elaborate gazebo type fort. Pillows and stuffed animals cover my floor.  My kids fall asleep, impressed with their design. I don’t care that my house is turned upside down. Nothing is going to interfere with my plans.  Not even my oldest, the stay up late whenever he gets the chance, leave the TV and lights on all over the place, son can foil my strategy.  He is spending the night with a friend, running their electric bill up, I muse. And then there’s my hard working husband, the only one who can’t sleep in tomorrow. He fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

It’s only me and my book now. And even its riveting pages are no match for my nodding head. I fall asleep somewhere near the end of Chapter 19. But this beautiful sleep ends abruptly with the sharp ring of my husband’s cell phone. Who in the world is calling at this hour? My husband stirs but remains sleeping. I guess I drift off again myself. Yet, like a recurring nightmare, the phone blares out again. This time I get up. I don’t recognize the number so I slip back to bed. Got to be a wrong number, I reason. 

Miraculously, I return to my slumber. About twenty minutes later, I hear a faint tap, tap, tap on our front door. I must be dreaming. But there it goes again. Our dog, Jack, starts barking (obviously oblivious, along with our midnight caller, that this is my first chance in weeks for a good night sleep). The doorbell rings. Scrambling to find my clothes, the bell rings again and I hear a familiar voice, “Mom? Mom? Mommm?” Why is it never, “Dad? Dad? Daaaad?” Apparently, my first born is a victim of a failed sleepover. He walks in, moans about his stomach hurting, moseys over to the couch and falls asleep within five minutes. My return flight to dreamland would not come as easy.

I grab my book, click on a small light in the living room and scan Chapter 19 to locate where I left off. A couple hours later, I am ready to catch my flight again. I position my pillow just under my head and hold on tight. But, my flight is barely off the runway when my youngest walks in, crying, desperately in need of a Band-Aid for an earlier injury on his big toe.

“The best laid plans...,” I think. My long anticipated night of sleep is not to be. I know that now. There’s always coffee, I smile.  A few hours later, my husband delivers my consolation prize cup of java. “Offer ya a lousy cup of coffee?” he smirks. 

Securing the mug, I hug my husband and we survey our four children sprawled on the floor and couch.  We smile. I’m warmed by more than the coffee. I wouldn’t trade this for the best night sleep in the world.