Owen was having difficulty sleeping tonight.
Tomorrow morning he’s heading out with Carrie to a jewellery show she’s doing in the city. He loves these one-on-one times, having one parent to interact with, fewer rules, that sort of thing. I think he also likes the spectacle of an outdoor show, as many of us do.
It had been mentioned to him that he would do well to get to bed on time tonight, get a good night’s rest in order to be in his best form for an all-day show with Mama. I managed to get him into bed, story read and songs sung by 7:15, no less. It is quite standard for me to be bustling the kids into bed at 8 or even 8:30 and fretting about the late hour and the possibly grumpy front they’ll present in the morning. So having started them on dinner at 4:30 and allowing the usual hour or so to pick through it (arghhhh!), I felt well-prepared for the sleep Owen knew would be good for him.
But when I checked on him at 7:45, he was still awake, tossing and grumbling. I got him a requested glass of water. At 8pm he walked in to where my father and I were just about to start watching The Polar Express (yes, a Christmas movie in September, I know).
“Hey! Why do you guys get to watch The Polar Express?”
I was a deer caught in the headlights…. “Uhhhm… Well Owen, let’s just get you back into bed.” Best not to address the question frontally and tack to the left instead.
I comforted him and bundled him back into his dyne* (duvet), which he tossed off immediately, complaining of heat. “I’m so hot and I can’t sleep, and I want to. And I want to have fun with Mama tomorrow.”
I fetched a dampened cloth and gently bathed him in the dark, which he liked very much. Owen has this thing where his body heats up tremendously shortly after he’s fallen asleep. He hair gets sopping wet and stick to his head. His little body gets damp and he often leaves salt stains on his pillow. But continue through the night he does, eventually cooling off and needing his dyne to warm up. Tonight he reached the heat stage while still awake and tossed in his bed like a bottle on the sea. He was so – quietly – frustrated, it broke my heart.
I thought maybe I was keeping him awake by being there and so left for awhile. I crept back in at 9pm and he was still awake and pissed off now. I lay beside him in his little creaky bed and slowly sung almost every song I knew:
59th Street Bridge Song (Feeling Groovy)
For Emily, wherever I may find her
I Saw Three Ships
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
Adeste Fidelis
Coventry Carol
If I had Words
Per Spelmann (Norwegian Folk Song)
Kjerringa, Kjerringa (Norwegian Folk Song)
…and a dozen more besides.
He relaxed somewhat during this litany. As I slowed down and finished, though, he softly said:
” I’ve tried counting sheep, Dada, but my mind keeps making the sheep all jump over the stile at once.”
I chuckled and hugged him like there was nothing else to do on earth.
He had hints of fatigue in his voice and I lay with him just a little longer before slipping out of his room. “Wha, where..” he said, and I said I needed to go check on Bestefar (my father), which was not entirely true, or even a little bit true really. I guess I just felt he needed to drop off on his own as he was close to doing so.
I stepped in ten minutes later and he was fast asleep. I re-arranged his covers, brushed some hair off his forehead, unbent an arm akimbo, eased down a raised knee and gently kissed his still-damp brow.
* – “dyne” is a Norwegian term for a down comforter. Pronounced something like : dee-nah (with rounded mouth