Bend It Like Honea

The boy won’t sleep. Ever.

Yes, we went through this with the older one. I think. It’s funny how stuff like that, pain you could call it, is blocked out once it passes. Unfortunately this makes the second round all the harder. Kids are like kidney stones. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.

They get it from me I suppose. Don’t get me wrong, I love sleep. I love sleep so much that I wake up each morning at full attention. Sleep rubs me the right way.

I just hate going to bed.

Did I just talk about morning wood in a post about my kid’s sleeping problem?

Did I just call it morning wood?

I think so.

When I was a kid I would sneak out of bed every chance I got. Granted, I was more interested in hiding behind the couch to watch shows deemed scary or violent or that finished past my bedtime, than crying for no apparent reason. We all have our paths in life.

I watched the entire mini-series of “Roots” from under a coffee table.

I also had a collection of mirrors, most of which were on a wall tiled with them (thanks 70’s!) and a window that could bend about a quarter of the blurry picture screen onto my mother’s vanity mirror as I crouched above it in the darkness of my bedroom.

My son cries for two hours because he fears dark and monsters or misses whispers and touches of love. I spent two hours watching “The Waltons” and “Eight is Enough” in an incredibly elaborate, nay, genius, use of light and reflection.

Of course I was a bit older.

The boy won’t sleep and I can’t help him. He doesn’t want what I’m offering. He is content with being upset. It’s frustrating.

Almost as frustrating as never being able to see who Johnny Carson is talking to.

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