Sleeping late
One thing you may not realize if you don't have kids: Sleeping late is a luxury that is reserved solely for kids and for adults without children. I haven't regularly or consistently been able to sleep late since I was in my early 20's. Now I can only count on being able to sleep late a few times a year, and this morning was one of them.
I've never fancied myself a "morning person." I'm usually working by 7 AM, but that doesn't mean I'm all together with it until several hours later -- I'm usually groggy and miserable until about 10 or 11. And while I'm up at 6 or often earlier, I'm usually really resentful about it, because it's inevitably because the kids are responsible -- usually because there's screaming or crying as a result of some real or perceived injustice or abuse between siblings.
I can usually only sleep in if my mom takes all three kids for an overnight at her house, which has, to date, only happened once; if I'm on the road and it's a "down" day, such as a day before the trade show I'm covering begins; or if all three kids sleep in themselves -- which might happen once a year, if I'm lucky. So I don't get to sleep in very often.
This morning I could sleep in because Bonnie and the kids spent the night at a nearby hotel. It's my father-in-law's annual tradition, and he's done it since the grandkids were younger. He books a night -- inevitably mid-week, because the rates are lower -- at one of the hotels in nearby Hyannis that stays open year-round, and has a pool. And inevitably, it's an exercise in frustration. Not only are my three kids involved, but their two cousins are as well, one of whom is Robert's age and the other who is a teen now.
Five kids, ages ranging from 13 to 4. And an overly Type A (albeit kindhearted enough) father-in-law who more enjoys being one of the kids than helping to corral them and keep them under control, to the detriment of other hotel guests.
So, if it isn't obvious already, I stay away from this event like the Plague. It's a pressure-cooker atmosphere that's just stress I don't want or need, especially now that Christmas is beginning to recede behind us.
My mother has been unlucky enough to be involved for the past couple of years. This year, she begged off -- the (legitimate) excuse was that she couldn't take time off from her new job. So Bonnie got corralled in instead. Poor Bonnie. From the sound of it, James and Emme were good enough for the most part, though Robert was the problem child for this event: Lots of bullying, fighting and other generally crappy behavior. Not what I expect of him, to be honest, and I'm a little disappointed.
In other words, Max (the cat) and I had the house to ourselves for most of yesterday afternoon and all of this morning. I'm still recovering from shoveling the driveway on Monday -- my forearms are still aching badly, though my upper body and back have recovered -- so I've been gimping around but otherwise have been keeping a low profile.
Max, who's gotten used to being Bonnie's cuddle-buddy when it's nap or sleep time, hasn't known what to do with himself. Last night he woke me up at about 2AM, yowling loudly, eyes wide and fur bristled, then he scrambled off the bed and took a nutty, running laps around the house. When people go missing from the house unexpectedly, Max gets offended -- some cats have a very distinct sense of schedule and routine that does not tolerate change at all, and he is one such cat.
The upside of all this is that I woke up at about 8:30 this morning, free of obligations to work and family. As a bachelor, I'm sure I would have felt ripped off at only sleeping in until 8:30. But as a working stiff and father, it was a blissful extra two hours of sleep that I don't normally get to enjoy.
But now Bonnie and the kids are back, and everything is back to normal.