Not Sleeping
Twelve hours ago I woke up. It was three a.m. Usually when I wake up and can't fall back to sleep it's because I'm worrying. Is my teenage driver safe? Did anyone bring the dog inside last night? Am I ever going to finish writing my book? Get it published? How are we going to pay two college tuitions this year? But not last night. I just laid there, awake, for no apparent reason. Did I take a nap yesterday? No. Did I work out yesterday? Yes. Did I have coffee in the afternoon? No. According to all indications, I should have kept sleeping. And yet.
Usually if I have trouble sleeping, I tough it out and stay in bed. Really it's not so bad being awake in bed in the middle of the night. The house is quiet and dark. I can turn my head to see out the window at lightning bugs, or the moon, or the shadows of trees. Hubby is sleeping soundly next to me, emitting enough heat to solve the energy crisis. I have a sheet, a cotton quilt, a down blanket, two kinds of pillows, so I have at my disposal every possible sleeping configuration for maximum comfort. So usually I stay in bed and eventually fall asleep.
But not last night. After an hour or so, I gave up trying and came downstairs. I checked email to see if there were any messages from my son, who would shortly be boarding a flight home from Rome. I made myself coffee and breakfast (2 eggs over easy and italian bread toast). I was just about to sit down in my solitude to enjoy this breakfast and read the NYTimes online, when I heard someone on the stairs. I assumed it was Hubby, since he often rises at a ridiculously early hour, but instead it was son #4. At age 13, he's all legs, ribs, collarbone, shoulderblades. He grew 5 inches in the last 12 months. He's standing there on the stairs wearing nothing but boxers. God his legs are long, like someone has been stretching him on a rack as he slept. It's 5:00 a.m.
"I couldn't sleep," he says.
I hug him around the waist. He's so skinny my arms could go almost twice around. His skin is warm and smooth. Not a hair on his body (yet), aside from his head. "Everything OK?" I ask.
"Yeah. My phone was making noise. It scared me..."
I made him breakfast: scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. We sit across from each other, as I try to read the paper online and he asks questions apropos of nothing. What are Hispanics? Where is Sam's plane now? Jessie's [the dog] still asleep. Should I run this morning?
A golden moment. The birds start singing and I see the sky turning pink behind the dark outline of the trees. At 5:30 Hubby arrives in the kitchen, shortly followed by son #2. At 19, he has to be at work at 7:00 a.m. He's at a loss to find us up and eating breakfast before him.
"What've we got here?" he asks, smiling. I make him breakfast: 2 eggs over easy, 3 strips of bacon, some Italian toast.
I guess that was worth the sleepless night, having breakfast together, so ordinary, so special.
Usually if I have trouble sleeping, I tough it out and stay in bed. Really it's not so bad being awake in bed in the middle of the night. The house is quiet and dark. I can turn my head to see out the window at lightning bugs, or the moon, or the shadows of trees. Hubby is sleeping soundly next to me, emitting enough heat to solve the energy crisis. I have a sheet, a cotton quilt, a down blanket, two kinds of pillows, so I have at my disposal every possible sleeping configuration for maximum comfort. So usually I stay in bed and eventually fall asleep.
But not last night. After an hour or so, I gave up trying and came downstairs. I checked email to see if there were any messages from my son, who would shortly be boarding a flight home from Rome. I made myself coffee and breakfast (2 eggs over easy and italian bread toast). I was just about to sit down in my solitude to enjoy this breakfast and read the NYTimes online, when I heard someone on the stairs. I assumed it was Hubby, since he often rises at a ridiculously early hour, but instead it was son #4. At age 13, he's all legs, ribs, collarbone, shoulderblades. He grew 5 inches in the last 12 months. He's standing there on the stairs wearing nothing but boxers. God his legs are long, like someone has been stretching him on a rack as he slept. It's 5:00 a.m.
"I couldn't sleep," he says.
I hug him around the waist. He's so skinny my arms could go almost twice around. His skin is warm and smooth. Not a hair on his body (yet), aside from his head. "Everything OK?" I ask.
"Yeah. My phone was making noise. It scared me..."
I made him breakfast: scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. We sit across from each other, as I try to read the paper online and he asks questions apropos of nothing. What are Hispanics? Where is Sam's plane now? Jessie's [the dog] still asleep. Should I run this morning?
A golden moment. The birds start singing and I see the sky turning pink behind the dark outline of the trees. At 5:30 Hubby arrives in the kitchen, shortly followed by son #2. At 19, he has to be at work at 7:00 a.m. He's at a loss to find us up and eating breakfast before him.
"What've we got here?" he asks, smiling. I make him breakfast: 2 eggs over easy, 3 strips of bacon, some Italian toast.
I guess that was worth the sleepless night, having breakfast together, so ordinary, so special.
posted by calabresewoman | 11:47 AM
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