The Delicate Balance of Sleep

Sleep is a funny thing, and it comes in all shapes and sizes.  Or, rather, all lengths and qualities.  And what works for one, does not necessarily work for another.  In summary, one size does not fit all.  Samantha, as I have said  before, is a very good sleeper.  That doesn't mean she doesn't still wake at an ungodly hour most mornings, but she does have good quality sleep leading up to that. 

I sleep mostly well, so long as I've gone to bed at a reasonable time (read:  10pm).  There's a bit of a delicate balance for me, as I know I will be awoken at an even more ungodly hour by one of the two cats each morning, howling for food (okay, s**thead, there's still food in your dish) or general attention, sneaking into the bedroom to make little brrrt? brrrt? sounds every pointfivesecondsomg, dashing under the bed where he can't be grabbed and throttled  taken down to be locked in the basement (there are numerous, numerous logistical and building-structural reasons as to why this doesn't happen before I go to bed every night, not to mention the fact that I still like the little furball to sleep curled up with me, so don't even bother suggesting it).  On the occasions I am able to catch him at 4:30-ish AM, I will carefully climb over the baby gate at the top of the stairs (holding the limp, aquiescent cat in my arms as gently as possible, although throttling is still top on my mind), take him down, and drop him under the baby gate at the top of the basement stairs, lowering it to the floor to prevent his escape.  I then creep back up the stairs, carefully stepping over the squeaky step, climbing over the baby gate, hoping not to wake either Steve or Samantha, and crawl back into bed, trying to slow my breathing and my pounding heart enough to fall back asleep.  Shortly after this, Samantha decides she's going to wake up and come into our room.  As it is still a full hour and a half before she should be up, I have two options against the overwhelming urges she has to turn on her light and read her books:  bring her into our bed, or go and lie with her in her bed.  Either is fine, but only if the evil feline is already in the basement.  Otherwise, said evil feline would ensure it would be a major lose-lose situation with all three of us humans prematurely awake, one more irritable than the others...

like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth...

I accept that Samantha may awaken at 6am.  That's a totally acceptable time for her to do that, considering she is in bed and sound asleep by 8pm every night.   It's when I wake up to shower anyway, but keeping her quiet so Daddy can still sleep while I'm in the shower is more of a challenge, unless I can convince her to either stay in the bathroom to hang out with me, or go into her room, shut the door, and read her books, both of which are perfectly fine options for her most days. 

I said most days, right?

Let's take Saturday morning as an example of the exception to the rule (btw, Saturday does not mean "sleeping in").  She came into the bathroom just as I was stepping into the shower.  She agreed to hang out in there with me.  She sat on top of the toilet lid.  She decided she had to use the toilet.  She decided she would use the toilet and then get into the shower with me (a child who hates the shower).  She took off all of her clothes, ever-so-carefully stretched one foot through the shower curtain into my space, then instantly retracted it, saying "Ewwww, it's too wet!"  Uh huh.  Yes it is.  I had just soaped my hair, and I knew I was in trouble.  No clothes means she needs to find clothes.  Finding clothes means rifling through her dresser, anchored to the wall in the middle of the upstairs hallway since she pulled one of her dressers on top of her in her room when she was 3 years old.  And let's just say that 20 foot ceilings, hardwood floors, heavy dresser drawers and a wide-awake, 5 year old child banging them, insisting on dressing in the hall with the bathroom door left wide open emiting the cacophany of light, shower and ceiling fan all running at once, do-not-a-restful-sleep-for-Daddy make...

Yep, definitely a delicate balance.  I think I'm beginning to reach a point where I'm looking forward to not having cats for a while, and in their advanced age, that may not be too far off.  (Hastened by my desire to throttle, of course...)

The child I can handle.  :-)