In the 50s, or maybe the 40's? TV was not endless programs that you could watch all hours of the night. 3 o'clock in the bleary morning home shopping network was not heard of. I guess no one had insomnia in those days.
ANYWAY, these 50's or 40's TV people would reach the end of the day of regularly scheduled programming and sweet stories about boys and their dogs, and it would end. Tada. The end. See you all tomorrow.
That, in a nutshell, is what happens to my brain after the kids' normally scheduled bedtime. Tada. The end. See you all tomorrow. I will now watch white snow on a black screen (or...is it really black snow on a white screen? Hmmm...maybe I'll watch it for a few more hours and get back to you on that.) until tomorrow morning.
Cam you see where I am going with this? Yes. Last night. They were up until 11:30.
I use my last ounces of sweet patience on pajama time and book time and milk time and shema time. Maybe a last minute water call and blanket tucking in. Then, they must go to sleep. At once. Because it's hard to talk to children with your brain tuned in to white/black snow.
"Do you know how to say couch in hebrew?"
"Nooooo, sapah. (with an indistiguish-able difference. American-Israeli kids!)"
"Right I know so much Hebrew?"
"Can you sing me another song?"
"Does that mean no?"
Meanwhile Coco-pop was rattling around in her crib like a ghost in chains, singing a song of her own creation. It went like this:
"Iiiiiiiiima, wanna come out, Iiiiiiiima, wanna to come out, Iiiiiiima, wanna to come out!"
The chorus was pretty much the same.
When they finally fell asleep, I slumped, dejected, to my own bed. I felt like any Good Mommy Points that I had scored were gone, finished, done with, used up. I felt like I had to talk to someone about it. I turned to my husband. His eyes were closed, but he was still awake. Probably.
"You know, I hate that my brain turns off. I wish that I had more patience with them. I need to work on this. They do not have to turn off like clockwork every night in order for me to be happy. They could ask me questions and I should give them normal, human-like responses!"
"I remember waking up with a nightmare when I was little and walking back and forth in the hallway, trying to creak someone awake. I wished with all my little heart that my mother would wake up and hold me. I need to always be there for them, even when it's 2 in the morning."
"Maybe I should take classes. Or just tell myself that life is not perfect and does not fall into predesignated slots. You know?"
"I should make a list. I should hang it up. I should--"
"....I guess that means that you're not going to sing me a song."
And that, my friends, is what we call karma.