Give Napping A Chance

Feb 29 2012

I had the crud last weekend.

I don’t know about you, but around here everyone knows that the crud is a cat burglar who ransacks my house, steals my patience and grace, and leaves behind an unreasonable state of mama mind wherein I forget that I actually like my children and that I wouldn’t give them away to the first traveling salesman who offers me a trip to a day spa, a fruity cocktail and a real, breathing, live-in maid named Mercy.

In other words, I’m a true delight when I’m sick. I’m practically a sunbeam. The kind of sunbeam that sneaks unfiltered through that hole in the ozone layer and fries everything it touches with its laser-hot madness. Sweet joy.

When I’m at the end of my mama rope, I find I sometimes have to go to extremes to find a fix. On Sunday, for example, I decided to give napping a chance.

Now, I’m not a good napper. My personality is too jittery, my mind is too full, and my list is too long. Also, I never know whether I should sleep with my pants on, which feels like a serious lack of nap commitment, or try to snooze in just my panties and a t-shirt, which makes me fear that Nap’s going to brag to all his friends in the locker room on Monday. And to make matters even worse, I suffer from severe Nap Hangover when it’s over; when I wake up, I’m sluggish and light-sensitive and generally an unlivable, useless lump for hours. In short, I’m an embarrassment to nappers everywhere.

So when I decide I need a nap, it’s because I’m truly Done. I can neither lift my eyes nor my patience a single second more.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the best mental place on Sunday to undertake the kind of delicate family negotiations that are required when the mama needs a nap. At the point I need it most, the nap is most destined to fail due to my inability to communicate a basic message like SERIOUSLY. GET OUT. I’M TRYING TO NOT EAT YOU ALIVE. Instead, I say nothing.

For example, Sunday’s naptime attempt resulted in:

  • one kid and one husband in bed with me to “keep you company, Mom, ’cause we don’t want you to be lonely”
  • two kids laying on my bedroom floor sneaking television episodes of Gold Rush Alaska on the Discovery Channel
  • my dad stopping by the bedroom to chitchat and ask me how I was feeling
  • and one kid splashing in my bathtub

Like the Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz, I could’ve fixed all of this if I only had a brain (or the power of speech). So now that my head isn’t stuffed full of straw, I thought I’d assemble a proactive list of responses so that my biannual naps might result in, oh, I don’t know, SLEEP.

Next time I try to nap, I shall post the notice below.

‘Til then, I’m happy to tell you I’m on the mend! Thank you for filling my inbox with your kind wishes for my good health. You sure know how to lift a mama’s spirits.
Beth

……….
ATTENTION: FAMILY
POSTED NOTICE REGARDING YOUR MOTHER’S TEMPORARY ILLNESS

Mommy is sick and tired. Literally.

Also, Mommy lost her poo. Not literally. (If you find any literal poo about, you should tell Daddy right away.)

Since Mommy can’t use her nice words or her nice sounds or her nice face, Mommy’s having a nap. In her room. Alone. Which means without anyone else. Including you. Even if you’re going to be very, very quiet like the quietist mouse. Even if you just need one thing from the bathroom. Even if Mommy won’t care. Still alone.

Mommy will be back from her nap when she can find her nice words, her nice sounds, and her nice face. They’re hiding somewhere. Probably with her poo. FYI, it will take Mommy at least an hour to locate everything because Mommy is old and old people’s brains take longer to reset.

While you’re waiting, here are some important things to know:

Mommy doesn’t know where the dog is. Mommy doesn’t care where the dog is. Wherever the dog is is fine. Whatever the dog is eating is fine. Whatever the dog is pooping on is fine. If you’re worried about the dog, you should tell Daddy.

Mommy doesn’t know where your unicorn pillow pet is.

Mommy doesn’t care that your brother hit you. Daddy cares. A lot. You should tell Daddy.

Yes, you can have a bandaid. You can have all of the bandaids.

Yes, you can have a snack. You can have all of the snacks.

Yes, you can have a treat. You can have all of the treats.

Yes, Mommy’s sleeping.

Yes, right now.

Yes, Mommy’s still sleeping.