Right now, as I type this, I'm sleepy. Reading to the boys, ostensibly to help them get to sleep, has great sedative power. There I am, misreading the words, mumbling and trailing off during Grandpa Joe's narration of how Willie Wonka had to fire everyone at the chocolate factory for spying. "READ!" begs Jack. Later he says, "Give me the book! I'll read." I know better than to do the latter because he'll be reading aloud, avidly, becoming more and more alert, as I tilt over on the chair, snoring and drooling. Instead, I beg Jack to have mercy on me and stop yelling "READ" louder and louder. Will is usually already asleep, especially tonight since I gave him Benadryl for his congestion.
This is what will happen. At around 4 AM I'll wake up worrying about some minor housekeeping issue that I don't give a rat's ass about during the day. Like "I must sharpen those hedge trimmers before spring!" Or it might be "I must unpack those boxes in the garage!" Once it was, really, "That basket of raspberries in the fridge! We forgot to eat them! And they're moldy!" The sad part is we didn't even have any raspberries. Then after these faux anxiety attacks I'm completely alert, my heart practically pounding. Sometimes I drink a huge glass of water, because that actually seems to have a calming effect after a few minutes. The water in my stomach gives me ballast and I sleep eventually.
During the day, my body waits to snag some sleep here and there. If you ever want to tell me something important in the afternoon that may take a while, pleas punctuate your conversation with staccato laughs or curse words. Or punch me in the arm every so often. And of course, I never ever close my eyes waiting for a traffic light.
Yawn. Good night and sleep well.