Goldilocks

Once upon a time, my mother didn't spend so much of her free time laughing at her eldest daughter. No, seriously. I can still remember when I could just take my troubles to her, bury my head in her shoulder, sob about the creepy boy on the school bus who kept bonking me in the back of my head with a soccer ball...and my mother would whisper nice, soothing, "It will be alright" things into my hair.



Nowadays, as I explain my never-ending trials with "Napping the Boy", she just laughs at me. Not little snorts, not the wry grin you can hear over the telephone...nope, the shameless wench just rolls her head back on the couch and laughs until she can't sit up. I have been given to understand that I was not very fond of naps or bedtime when I was his age (and perhaps, I recall a particular stalling tactic where I once hit up each member of her entire bridge table to read me a bedtime story) and Mom's reaction is that ancient evil "Mother-Humor" coming back to bite me in the @ss...that in theory, in time, I too, shall get to fall down laughing at my own singular progeny. "But you're always trying to get him to sleep." she told me. Well, YEAH!!! A sleeping boy means sleeping parents...sleeping parents mean (in theory) functioning, pleasant, playful parents the next day. I mean, seriously, how much therapy will a squirrel-boy need if his parents are the lead zombies in a John Carpenter movie (brains...brains...brains..)? More sleep for all of us just increases everyone's overall survival rate, and we are as pro-surviving as we are pro-sleeping.


The latest running joke in the on-going saga of conking the boy is that he has decided that at eight-thirty or nine at night that he's ready to go to bed, and will even obediently hop and skip under the covers...Now, it's OUR bed and OUR covers, but he does indeed crash out within a few minutes of climbing in. It began with Josh escaping his confines in the morning and coming into our room (it's so cute to hear those big-little feet pad-pad-pad onto our bedroom's wooden floor everyday)...then after a quick "Mommy?" he will pull himself bodily up onto the bed and crawl-thump, crawl-thump his way to the middle of the bed, where he will demand "Blanket." and I oblige by covering him up and he will be out with in minutes...I've finally discovered how his snooze alarm works -- he then sleeps until eight or nine. Over time, though, and quite frankly because Jon gets all gushy (and because it make the night SOOOOO much calmer)he's been going to sleep in our bed...At first, it's so sweet to hear the rhythm of Jon's breathing with Josh's softer counterpart...but if I succumb to it and fall asleep myself, I get roped into a never-ending night of resounding baby-kicks to the kidneys or throat, or a crashing blond skull into my nose or temple. Jon's also on the receiving end, and between Josh and Koda, we nearly get kicked out of our king-size bed every time we stage one of these "sleepovers". When Josh isn't trying to score body-shots, he's knocking his head into the wall at the head of the bed or sliding into the space between the wall and the bed (we don't have a headboard or footboard because Jon's just too tall, and kept cracking his arms and feet against them). We've tried to rectify the situation by placing pillows strategically between the wall and the bed, but Josh's favorite sleeping moves consist of thrashing around near our heads and the pillows usually fall down again...don't worry though, a good throat kick guarantees that we'll be awake enough to get him sorted out again quickly. I've been trying to stay awake and get Josh resettled in his own room...sometimes, though, it's only slightly successful (Jon is absolutely no help on this one...he gets the same kicks I do, but falls asleep with this goofy, contented expression on his face, snuggling Josh like he's a teddy bear). Last night I shuffled him off at 10, and went back to bed. Hours later (and we've been giving him a free ride after 5 a.m.) he came back in and conked out. I thought it was after five. It was three-thirty. I have more bruises on my back than an MMA fighter, and he came THIS CLOSE to breaking my nose. Many years ago, my dear little sister Carrie had a snore that could rattle panes of glass three miles away, and was also the grand-master-kidney-kicker. Many's the night that my other sister Denni and I would stand over her and watch her sleep the sleep of the innocent...and put a pillow over her head. So far, Josh's inherent cuteness has continued to save him from a similar fate, but one more crushed vocal chord, and I will not see the humor of the situation. Jon will just pretend he's asleep, even if Josh has kicked out Jon's own spleen ...maybe I should put the pillow on Jon's head?




Josh continues to grow, mentally and physically. He's getting better at wearing his glasses and has fallen in love with MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO, an anime that Jon and I have long adored. For now, it's taken the place of Godspell, and putting it in guarantees that Josh will calm down and relax for a while. He's such a hoot. He marches with the opening song, he runs around telling everyone about Totoro, and the Chesire-like Catbus sends him into gales of delighted screams.



For a long while, we've been working on Josh's manners...He's getting so much better at "Please" and "Thank you". Once, Josh wanted a cookie and I tried reminding him for twenty minutes to say please...I finally caved when he gave me a kiss instead. He bounded away with his cookie, and turned back to me, holding his cookie up triumphantly. He grinned and only then did he say, "Please." before running away laughing.


It's another just accepted joke that several of the ladies in my family have a different definition of the word, "Hurry." One day, I was trying to snag the last few things on the way out the door, and Jon (thinking he was funny) decided to snap his fingers at me to get me moving. I threatened to lop of his arms and call him "Stumpy" if Josh ever picked that up, and I turned to firmly tell Josh not to follow suit. No sooner do I catch my son's eyes than he raises his tiny hand , grins and snaps. I gave Jon the Eyebrow of Doom.



Jon tried gamely not to respond, but he started laughing too hard. Then he began to choke and nearly coughed himself to death. Serves him right.