Monday: Start of week 2 on this major acquisition which is happening at lightning speed. It’s definitely the “dog days of summer” as I’m totally working like one. I’ve arrived home from work only to find that the 3 year old is burning up with a fever of 102…oh no.
Tuesday: Acquisition still full steam ahead. Fever is now at 103. Leave work early and rush home to takeover watching 3 year old from grandma…coach 7 year old’s soccer game…and sneak in an episode of Bold and the Beautiful…it’s the little things…
Wednesday: Fever spikes at 104. Sleepless night tallies 2. Work from home day. Develop financial model day. Try and get disgusting antibiotics down my toddler’s throat day. Try not to have a nervous breakdown day. Think happy thoughts…ommmmmmm….
Thursday: Fever down to 100…progress! Sleepless night tallies 3…wrong kind of progress! Tag out of babysitting – Mr. Niceguy’s turn. Drop 7 year old at camp, race downtown, park car and walk to my desk. Oh, there it is again…like a forbidden drug…the travel shop. I always look at the window with such forlorn on my way to the office – do I go to Delhi? Sounds so exotic…I can just smell the spices. Do I take a whirlwind trip to NY or Las Vegas? Or a month jaunt to Europe: London, Paris, Florence…just $499 / $899 / $1,099…
Friday: Temperature normal! Hooray! And I got some sleep!! But the list of things to do has been piling up and I have a really full weekend ahead. Oh boy…I just need to make it to Saturday…
Saturday: 4:57 am, I hear a pitter patter in my sleep, reach out my arms from my horizontal position, twist to the right, grip the 3 year old, lift him up, twist back to the left and plonk him between Mr. Niceguy and me – all without opening my eyes. 4:58 am – did I just do that? Do I dare open my eyes? 5:08 am, I can’t take it anymore – I rush to the washroom and then rush back…sleep, why do you evade me? 5:14 am, I hear him. Thump, thump, thump…that distinctive walk…it’s the 7 year old. And before I know it, he’s standing over Mr. Niceguy. I’m in a horror movie.
7 year old: I had a bad dream. [He says without fear – almost like it was super cool]
Me: Oh. You ok? Why don’t you squeeze in here – your brother’s here anyway. But we’re still sleeping, it’s too early…
7 year old: My bad dream starts with a ‘T’
Me: [10 bucks] Tornado?
7 year old: [Pretends he’s shooting guns – with the sound you make while clicking your tongue in your cheek] “Tch-tch” Ya. In the basement.
Me: Tornadoes don’t happen in basements.
7 year old: [Points gun at me] “Tch” – You got it!
After nearly an entire week of sleep deprivation and disruption, for which I maintain a healthy level of fear as well as an almost twisted sense of reverance, I feel like I’m losing my mind. As an aside, it goes without saying that thanks to the “PTSD” brought on by the early days of parenthood which were laced with unforeseen, unexplained, and unbelievable levels of sleep deprivation, I am compelled to pay homage and respect to the power of sleep. Those early days were like nothing I’d ever experienced: infinitely harder than cramming for my hardest exam or preparing for a job interview.
Getting back to it, sometimes in this house full of boys, I feel like I’m in that same sleep deprived state… trying to navigate like an alien from another planet, or better yet, winding around like a drunkard. Hyper emotional, totally unpredictable, yet somehow, fully functional.
It’s like I’ve arrived in my most elegant gown, strappy sandals, without a hair out of place, in perfect makeup and dripping with bling to a backyard BBQ complete with flip flops and finger food.
Misconstrued, misinterpreted, misunderstood.
And this was confirmed by none other than Mr. Niceguy…who in a moment of absolute, rational, logic, set me straight. Kids in bed, tidying up complete, we put our feet up and started watching a taped episode of the Bachelorette. And that’s when it happened. Another poor guy, totally smitten with the Bachelorette gets sent home…and I’m defending how she was absolutely right to send him home. How she was so gracious and kind and how her words would surely lead to a mutual respect and potential future friendship…to which Mr. Niceguy responded, gesticulating like an alien robot: “Bleep, bloop, blurp!”
Me: [Whiny] Whaaaaat??!!
Mr. Niceguy: You can’t be serious…they’ll never be friends!
Me: Why not? He’s sooooo funny…and so sweet! I’d wanna stay friends with him.
Mr. Niceguy: Ya. Men are from Mars, women are from Venus. There’s really no point to him being friends with her, is there? Think about it…
And there it was…and there it is. We often make light of our differences by magnanimously referencing the book with that very same title – and incidentally neither of us have even read it. Still, it’s our way of diffusing misunderstandings, resulting differences and feelings of slight.
I don’t need to survive another crazy week to recognize that Mr. Niceguy and I have lasted as long as we have, despite roadblocks, hurdles, obstacles, bumps and sticky wickets, because somehow we have become totally aware and completely accepting of the fact that we are completely different beings. And let’s face it, because Mr. Niceguy humours me by putting up with my meltdowns, crazy mood swings, my choice in TV (the Bachelorette and the Bold and the Beautiful, to name a couple) and declarations that I am the boss of this house (which totally fall on deaf ears), to name a few.
Though we may be from different planets, what I do know for sure is that we’re both on a fantabulous ride together! Oh, and that my people add a lot of colour…and wishful thinking! And if Mr. Niceguy were to read this, once again he’d say, “Bleep, bloop, blurp!” Pffft….