Cow Hide and Go Seek
I’m a fussy sleeper. I have to be in the exact right environment to fall asleep. My room must be dark. I have to hear some white noise. My teeth must be brushed. I can’t have the television going in my room, or any other room, and don’t just turn the volume down, because I can still hear it even over my white noise. Such is the life of an untreated, undiagnosed obsessive compulsive.
The kids have inherited my hair, my reluctance to talk, and, sadly, my sleeping quirks. They’re still young, and haven’t had time to develop too many sleeping crutches, but they’re there. Try forgetting to give Abbie her vitamin before bedtime, and her screams of protest will fill a block-radius around our sleepy suburban home. She also insists on sleeping with a collection of blankets and plush animals, a collection that’s grown large enough to limit her sleeping space on the bed.
The boys are even younger, and have even less that they need to fall asleep. Just give them a dark room, two beds in case they decide to use them, and a brother who isn’t trying to bite or sit on anyone else in the room, and they can fall asleep for the night.
The boys’ one big crutch is the cow blanket. They love their cow blankets, the soft, furry, cow-skin rug-like blankets they’ve cuddled with since I quit worrying about SIDS at a far-too-early age. The cow blankets help to calm them when they’re placed into stressful situations, such as being locked in a dark room at night with no one for company except a brother who’s trying to bite or sit on someone.
Unfortunately, this means they always carry their cow blankets around the house. The first thing I see in the morning after opening their bedroom door is two sleepy little men stumbling into the kitchen dragging cow blankets behind them. When I put them down to sleep, I usually have to find at least one cow blanket hidden somewhere in the house, oftentimes retracing their steps in their last wake time.
Such was the case a couple nights ago. I was ready to say goodnight and shut their doors when I realized they had no cow blankets. I walked into the playroom and immediately found one. I methodically entered every other room in the house searching for the second one.
Not in the living room. Not in the kitchen. Not in the bathroom. Not in Abbie’s room, although I did find the near-identical lambie blanket in her room, which the boys have already informed me is not a substitute.
I started getting more desperate, and checked the backyard. When I didn’t find it there, I went back through the rooms, looking under the myriad of childcare paraphernalia scattered throughout the house. After looking in every room and the backyard a second time, I started looking inside appliances. Not in the refrigerator. Not in the dishwasher. Not in the washing machine.
At this point, I was getting aggravated. Hearing the Cubs blow a five-run lead in the top of the ninth didn’t help my mood, either. Taking a cue from Dora, I stopped and thought: “Where did the kids go tonight? Did they go anywhere unusual? Were they climbing on the ceiling at any point?”
That’s when I remembered that they’d snuck into mommy and daddy’s bedroom that night. Usually a baby gate and a closed door protect our bedroom, but I forgot to activate our defenses before they woke from naptime, and they ran into our room while I prepared supper. I checked our room, and, after 20 minutes of searching, found the other cow blanket lying on the floor.
I ran it upstairs, herded the kids into the boys’ bedroom, and finished the bedtime routine. I just needed to sing a quick song, and everyone would be off to sleep snuggling an appropriate cow blanket. Then I noticed the first cow blanket had disappeared while I was searching for the second one. As much as they calm the boys, those blankets annoy the bejeebers out of me.
A couple minutes later, I found where they hid the blanket and put everyone to bed. I turned on the radio to hear the end of the Cub game while finishing my nightly chores. Fortunately, the sound of the radio from another room isn’t enough to keep the kids awake. Apparently, my screaming and jumping as the Cubs scored two in the bottom of the ninth to win it won’t prevent the kids from falling asleep either.
The kids have inherited my hair, my reluctance to talk, and, sadly, my sleeping quirks. They’re still young, and haven’t had time to develop too many sleeping crutches, but they’re there. Try forgetting to give Abbie her vitamin before bedtime, and her screams of protest will fill a block-radius around our sleepy suburban home. She also insists on sleeping with a collection of blankets and plush animals, a collection that’s grown large enough to limit her sleeping space on the bed.
The boys are even younger, and have even less that they need to fall asleep. Just give them a dark room, two beds in case they decide to use them, and a brother who isn’t trying to bite or sit on anyone else in the room, and they can fall asleep for the night.
The boys’ one big crutch is the cow blanket. They love their cow blankets, the soft, furry, cow-skin rug-like blankets they’ve cuddled with since I quit worrying about SIDS at a far-too-early age. The cow blankets help to calm them when they’re placed into stressful situations, such as being locked in a dark room at night with no one for company except a brother who’s trying to bite or sit on someone.
Unfortunately, this means they always carry their cow blankets around the house. The first thing I see in the morning after opening their bedroom door is two sleepy little men stumbling into the kitchen dragging cow blankets behind them. When I put them down to sleep, I usually have to find at least one cow blanket hidden somewhere in the house, oftentimes retracing their steps in their last wake time.
Such was the case a couple nights ago. I was ready to say goodnight and shut their doors when I realized they had no cow blankets. I walked into the playroom and immediately found one. I methodically entered every other room in the house searching for the second one.
Not in the living room. Not in the kitchen. Not in the bathroom. Not in Abbie’s room, although I did find the near-identical lambie blanket in her room, which the boys have already informed me is not a substitute.
I started getting more desperate, and checked the backyard. When I didn’t find it there, I went back through the rooms, looking under the myriad of childcare paraphernalia scattered throughout the house. After looking in every room and the backyard a second time, I started looking inside appliances. Not in the refrigerator. Not in the dishwasher. Not in the washing machine.
At this point, I was getting aggravated. Hearing the Cubs blow a five-run lead in the top of the ninth didn’t help my mood, either. Taking a cue from Dora, I stopped and thought: “Where did the kids go tonight? Did they go anywhere unusual? Were they climbing on the ceiling at any point?”
That’s when I remembered that they’d snuck into mommy and daddy’s bedroom that night. Usually a baby gate and a closed door protect our bedroom, but I forgot to activate our defenses before they woke from naptime, and they ran into our room while I prepared supper. I checked our room, and, after 20 minutes of searching, found the other cow blanket lying on the floor.
I ran it upstairs, herded the kids into the boys’ bedroom, and finished the bedtime routine. I just needed to sing a quick song, and everyone would be off to sleep snuggling an appropriate cow blanket. Then I noticed the first cow blanket had disappeared while I was searching for the second one. As much as they calm the boys, those blankets annoy the bejeebers out of me.
A couple minutes later, I found where they hid the blanket and put everyone to bed. I turned on the radio to hear the end of the Cub game while finishing my nightly chores. Fortunately, the sound of the radio from another room isn’t enough to keep the kids awake. Apparently, my screaming and jumping as the Cubs scored two in the bottom of the ninth to win it won’t prevent the kids from falling asleep either.
posted by Matt at
11:44 PM
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