Those of you who know me know I’m a schedule kind of girl. I like my routines, I like knowing what’s expected, I like pretending I have some semblance of control over my kingdom (or at least what’s supposed to happen when). And even if it’s a known departure, even if I can plan for it – like I could last night – sometimes even that throws a giant wrench into the works. (Yes, yes, because I’m ridiculous.)
It was Father’s Day yesterday. (Newsflash.) I know I’ve discussed the complete randomness of pick-up and transfer times of when Jeff gets his son – well, I mean, it’s every weekend, but we never know until day-of whether it’s going to be pick-up on Friday evening or Saturday morning, and drop-off on Sunday night (or when) or Monday morning. It’s something that I’m really working on just dealing with. So the good thing about yesterday being Father’s Day is that Jeff had decided he wanted Xman for the entire day, so
I we knew that Xman’s mom would pick him up Monday morning. Bonus: I didn’t have to worry about when we had dinner, or whether last minute changes would derail all of our plans. Downside: uh, everyone was going to have to go home after dinner. Which meant no one was sleeping over.
Yes, me, the world’s pickiest sleeper, has once again become addicted to having sleepovers every night.
Because the Xman gets picked up early-early-early (so Jeff can go to work), that meant Jeff and Xman had to sleep at home. And because I have work – and kiddos to drop at their dad’s for Camp Stepmom – that meant no sleepovers over there. I mean, occasionally on Wednesday nights, since the girls have begun staying over at their dad’s once a week, I will stay the night at Jeff’s house one a work-night. The problem is that I have to get up and out the door at 5:30 a.m. in order to beat traffic and let Fenway out. [Bam practically lives at our house, but Fenway hasn’t so much as visited Jeff’s because of Fen’s over-excited bladder.] And we’d tried the sleepover thing with the girls just this Saturday night, but because Jeff and Xman are just two bachelor guys banging around, that meant we also had to schlep sleeping bags and blankets and pillows and the girls stuffed animal of choice. It didn’t work out so well Saturday night/Sunday morning, given we have to leave late enough for Fen to go potty and get back early enough to avoid any puppy accidents in the house. Coordinating all of that on a work morning? No, thanks. Making it work on my kid-free weekends when it’s just me schlepping my own self is miserable enough.
So that meant no sleepovers. Womp wah.
I’m not entirely ridiculous. (I am.) Jeff usually has to spend a night at home grocery shopping or doing laundry or…you know, house stuff…that he can’t do when he’s just stopping in before or after Crossfit to grab clothes and things for the next day. It’s just that that hasn’t happened since before our vacation and I’m not used to having an entire evening planned with…nothing. I didn’t have any housework to do because I had already finished all the laundry, fixed the toilet in the master bath (the tank wouldn’t fill), cleaned the kitchen, and doled out marbles earlier to the kiddos who wanted to vacuum, dust, and clean out closets.
What I hadn’t done in just about forever, though, was sleep. So that’s how it came to be (that and the crazy-early wake-up that morning), that the girls and I were in bed, reading, at 8:30 last night. And why I was freezing, because I didn’t have my own personal space heater neutralizing the a/c. Nothing was wrong with my lazy though: instead of getting socks or bumping up the a/c (I knew I would be hot later when I woke up, and I was right), I reached over and grabbed a pair of shorts and a skirt that were lying at the end of the bed and laid them across the top of the covers at my feet. Instant mini-blankets! I read for about an hour, knocking out most of Finders Keepers, and then shut the light off. And proceeded not to fall asleep until about 11 p.m. I was pretty mad. Especially when I woke up at 4 a.m. and didn’t fall back asleep.
This off schedule things is killing me. Either we need to dial it back or dial it up, but no matter what, each and every solution better involve more sleep for me. Because the moral of the story is that I love sleep even more than I love the illusion of control. One or the other, universe. Please.