There are few things more absolutely luxurious for parents then a good Sunday afternoon nap.
Unfortunately, parents have children. And children do not feel parents should sleep. Ever.
All week Jake and I work hard. When the weekend arrives, Jake makes some sort of fabulous breakfast for us before he begins a day of a million projects and I run around all day trying to get things cleaned up, dinner made for Monday, snacks (in the form of cookies and brownies) baked and laundry caught up. Sunday finds us rushing out the door to church and coming home to either grill some over the top meal or eat a roast and mashed potatoes. Sunday also finds us exhausted.
Like – can’t. keep. my. eye. lids. open. one. second. more.
And even though we know we should be finishing projects that we were too exhausted to finish Saturday night, we tell the boys to clear the table and we find ourselves both unintentionally falling into our bed. Sunday I went in to the bedroom to get a sweater and there was Jake, half laying, half sitting on the bed.
“I’m too tired to do anything but sleep,” he mumbled.
“I’m too cold to do anything but curl up under blankets,” I said as I snuggled down into our bed and curled up next to him.
Why do beds feel so much softer in the middle of a sunny afternoon?
Just as my eyes had closed and my body had fully relaxed, the first knock came to the door.
“Mama, I have to wash the table every day. And they just told me to wash the table again. Do I have to?”
I don’t even know what I answered.
The next moment (it seems) someone is walking in to tell us they are done and can they go check on the sap. (Note: That’s another post. We are attempting to make our own maple syrup.)
Then there is a slam to the front door and I feel myself being jolted awake. Jake must sense it too because he snort snores half awake. “There is a hawk in the yard!” our son bursts out.
What time had passed? Like maybe five minutes?
And then three other sons have to come in to tell us that there is a hawk in the yard. All of them at various different times because what if we had slept through the other brother telling us?
Just when I think they are all busy now and I can sleep, blissfully sleep, our oldest comes in. “Hey, did you remember there is a hawk in the yard?”
It takes all my sleepy strength to not yell about how much I do not care about this hawk flying by our yard.
I don’t event think I have the energy or awake enough mind to answer him but he continues to tell me anyway that he was watching where the hawk was looking and found a rabbit so he shot it and we can have rabbit for dinner.
How I wish I had slept through that story.
He seems to realize I am not nearly as thrilled as he is over the story and leaves us. I snuggle next to my husband just as the door slams again and in runs S2. “The hawk tried to catch a chicken!” he nearly screams. Of course, any loud voice when you are trying to sleep sounds like a scream. “Can we shoot the hawk?”
At this my husband gives up and rolls out of bed. “I give up,” he spits out. “I’m just going to get started on something.” He stumbles out of the room and I hear him telling the boys that none of them are allowed to shoot a hawk. There are groans of disappointment.
I selfishly think that since Jake is out with the boys that I can get a nap. I lay in the middle of the bed, block my ears with the pillow, snuggle down in the warm blankets and sigh happily as I close my eyes.
Until guilt overcomes me because my husband is now left to fend for himself while I am sleeping.
So I shuffle out to the kitchen and make us coffee. Strong, oh so very strong coffee.
Jake walks into the kitchen to the smell of coffee brewing and hugs me. “I was just thinking coffee sounded good.”
And then those boys of ours. Those “I have an emergency every five seconds” boys? It’s as if they planned it because they don’t come looking for us for one single thing for a full hour. Just when I am thinking “half an hour until I have to take the boys to youth group, it’s not too late to take a nap…” S4 comes in sobbing that S3 dragged him across the ice and he is sure he is cut to his guts (he’s not, by the way, just barely scraped up) and S3 – seeming to know he is about to get in trouble thanks to his brother – comes in from falling in the swamp. “The ice is melting!” he says cheerily as he pulls his boots off. They make an odd sucking sound and then swamp water spills out all over the floor.
Well, at least the swamp water washed up some of the mud they just tracked in.
Sleep. What is sleep?
Our non sleeping Sunday’s reminded me of this youtube video a friend sent my way awhile back. I thought it was hilarious. Maybe you will too.
May you all have good luck in sleeping!
And really really really good coffee for when you don’t.