Nov. 20th, 2003

slipjig3: (Default)
So anyway, last night was Game Night at Trey's place, which was a pleasant enough affair. I tore myself away from the post-game festivities shortly after midnight, under the theory that I was going to get a Good Night's Sleep. I say this to remind myself not to think that, because the wee ones have a habit of not getting the memo.

I walked in the door around 12:45, just in time to hear Mr Nikolas caterwauling, "Graaaaaaaandmaaaaaaa..." in that patented spine-wrecking, wallpaper-peeling tone of his. I figured I'd give poor Grandma a break for a change, but Nik would have none of it (evidently, I'm persona non grata between the hours of 8 p.m. and 6 a.m.; you could set a watch by his antagonism). So Grandma hauled him downstairs to rock him to sleep in the La-Z-Boy, which didn't take too long, but his eyes popped open the very instant she tried to set him down in his bed, which is one of those habits of his that makes him very lucky to be that cute, for his own continued survival.

Well. Grandma, being human, has quickly grown tired of this little cycle, so instead of bringing him downstairs a second time she tucked him into bed and sat with him, to which he responded by screaming nonstop for several minutes. Soon she had grown tired of this, too, and simply went off to her bed. Nik's shrieks escalated, reaching tones and volumes usually reserved for air raid sirens and Mariah Carey remixes on Thursday night club crawls; needless to say, I, in the next room, wasn't exactly getting much shuteye. So in desperation I went in and began singing "Whiskey in the Jar" to him, which miraculously quieted him. Unfortunately, "quieted" and "asleep" are not exactly the same thing, and if he wasn't full-out comatose, any attempts on my part to leave the room would be met by Wagnerian temper tantrums.

So as the clock passed the 2 a.m. mark, I took a drastic measure, and asked him if he wanted to sleep in my bed, on the theory that even if he doesn't fall completely asleep, I will. Nice theory, if the kid next to you isn't squirming and kicking like a speed freak with a full-body rash. Every time I made headway into nodding off, I'd be awakened by another thrash, or a foot in my rib cage, or some such. Finally, some time after 4, my sleepiness was enough to trump any distraction up to and including the Boston Pops tuning up in the closet, and I drifted off.

At 6, Nik was wide awake, and ready to party. Marvy.

He did redeem himself later, though, along with his sister: today was Christmas portraits time. I must say that they were both unusually cooperative and well-behaved, and as photogenic as ever (you have got to see the pictures!). Abbey was decked out in a blue velveteen number, and Nik was positively natty in a vest and tie. In my ongoing bid to corrupt my children, I made sure to teach Nik some new vocabulary, which he demonstrated to our I-don't-know-what-they-re-paying-her-but-she-deserves-a-raise photographer:
Nik: Look at me!
Photographer: Ohhh, you look so handsome!
Nik: Yeah. I'm gonna be smooooooth!
You have to see the hand gesture that goes with it. Smooth, indeed.

And no, I don't know how I'm functioning well enough to write this right now, except that I'm operating on a combination of caffeine, processed white sugar, adrenaline and hormones. As soon as boy-child clunks out, I'm off to Hokey Pokey Land.
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