Sweet Dreams

It's 5:38 p.m., and I have yet to start anything resembling dinner or do a last-second house sweep before Nate gets home, so I don't have time for a full-out posting...but I wanted to record this funny little story from last night before I forget exactly how it ran....

Since Christmas and all of our up-and-down I-65 travels ended, Evan has been up and down in bed. Again. I thought we were over this, but it looks like we're back. I guess I should have known it was too good to be true. Our bedtime routines over the past four years have been fraught with varying Will you please just go to sleep? tactics--like standing over his crib and rubbing his eyebrows for 30 minutes each night until my thumb and index finger developed carpal tunnel syndrome. Or inching along his bedroom floor Marine-style on my elbows after he finally stopped crying...only to get to that spot by the door that a dust bunny couldn't float over without it creaking and waking up the whole house, Evan included.

Then sleeping on the couch together for three months. That was fun.

Then finally moving to a mattress on the floor. Then settling into an extra-long twin bed. With nine stuffed animals, cars that make gunning noises and say "Ka-chuga!" when you bump them, a metal lunchbox, a plastic cow, and a small iron tractor.

And then, one magical night...leaving the bed and everything in it (Evan included) behind under the guise of going to do some laundry, with the promise that I'd be right back...only to find that Evan fell asleep within the time it took to go downstairs and throw some socks in the washer. Seriously, that's all it took?! That led to a little white lie every night--and it worked, until he decided Daddy was his new best friend and our bed was much better. Other than having my feelings hurt at being left out of storytime, that set-up worked pretty well for all of us: Evan went to bed early, I got to have "me" time, Nate felt like Dad of the Year, and by the time I came in to carry a sound-asleep Evan to his own bed, my side of the bed was super-toasty. Win-win! And then, one magical night, Evan (in his own bed) suddenly declared he only wanted to read two books, didn't want a single stuffed animal, said "good night," gave me a hearty kiss, rolled over, and went to sleep. BY HIMSELF. Hallelujah!

That went on for a few glorious months...until the holidays rolled around and we were thrown off our game. It's enough to make you downright Grinch-y, being smashed up against a bed rail underneath a 40-pound kid whose resting body temp registers 500 degrees Fahrenheit. I've tried to bring back the old sneak-out-when-he-falls-asleep-routine, but most nights I fall asleep waiting for his blue eyes to close and wake up at 6 a.m., still in my skinny jeans, which cut off the blood supply to my feet sometime in the night.

So call me a wimp, but this week I've been sick (thanks to Evan, who shares pretty much everything but fruit snacks), which means I've been a pushover. I was too tired this past Sunday night to argue with him after he slipped out of bed for the third time and walked the slow walk of a whipped puppy out to where I was reading on the couch in the family room. He covered his eyes with his hands as he felt around for a place to sit, like if he couldn't see me, I wouldn't see him. I tried to be unforgiving and politely directed him back to his bed twice, but the third time, he started sobbing. Crying, I can take. But sobbing gets to me. Evan cries when he's mad. He sobs when his little heart has been broken, and that's much harder for a Mommy to ignore. So I got in bed with him as he gulped back sobs and said, "Thank you, Mommy." Now really, what am I supposed to say to that? I told him he was welcome, that I loved him, and to please roll over and try not to breathe into my face. (No such luck, I woke up with his same congestion/cough combo the next morning.)

But that doesn't mean I've given up; just that I'm too hopped up on cough drops and Vicks to protest much at the moment. Evan must sense I'll be ready for battle by this weekend, because last night he buttered me up like a large popcorn. As I settled in with two books: "Mommy, I want you sleep with me. Ok?"

"Evan, I'm not going to sleep with you."

"Ok. You sleep with me."

"Evan, I'm NOT going to sleep with you."

"Ok. You sleep right here." (Pats the pillow next to him.)

"Let's just read our books, alright?"

Read The Gruffalo and Curious George Goes Camping, neither of which are particularly short.

"Evan, we're done. Can you say your prayer?"

That's when he gave me this *look.* I've seen it a few times when he's being especially impish and has something up those little size-4/5 sleeves, but just then I had no idea what it meant. I found out pretty quickly as he folded his hands and said: "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray dear Lord I sleep with Mommy. Guard me Jesus through the night, and wake me with the morning light. Amen!" Evan's amen's are always enthusiastic; this "amen" was absolutely triumphant. Like, "Take that, Mommy! Let's see you turn down GOD." Manipulation at its finest.

I didn't know whether to laugh or turn him over me knee and give him a whupping. REALLY? First, I couldn't believe the thought process he'd gone through to amend his bedtime prayer. Second, his speech is definitely improving, but I never thought he'd take his grudge with sleeping alone to the Big Man Upstairs. Major guilt trip. So what did I do? Woke up to this.

And really, aside from sharing cold germs and having about six inches of room to call my own, it's not a bad way to wake up. Isn't he cute? : )

Oh, and so much for no full-out post. I'm a rambler.