Mom Takes A Nap

The recent activity of the Purdue Men’s Basketball team has my sleep schedule – early to bed, early to rise – completely out of whack. I simply do not have the genetic make-up for pacing, screaming at a television and texting college buddies in the eleven o’clock hour. 

So, Sunday after church I was admittedly dragging. We all had lunch, then Caroline went down easily for her nap, but Cyrus was really fighting it. Which is normal; the kid rarely sleeps when the sun is up. Cody noticed that I likely needed rest shortly after I cut the food on his plate into tiny bites, then served Caroline a plate full enough to feed a grown man. He offered to man the fort while I rested my eyes. I nearly wept in gratitude. I told him I only needed 15 minutes, and I’d be right back to my normal self. He gladly obliged. 

I crept up the creaky, farmhouse staircase, careful not to wake the 2 ½-year-old. I laid down on our bed, pulled a Purdue (bless their hearts) hooded sweatshirt over my body and I was asleep in less than a minute. 

It was only seconds later that a woman knocked on the door. I ran through the mudroom and answered. “You have a bunch of black cows out here on the highway,” she reported in a slow, unamused voice. The cigarette almost fell out of her lips. Of course, I began having a full-blown panic attack. I strapped Cyrus to my chest in a baby carrier, then bundled Caroline up and strapped her into the blue Fisher-Price swing that hangs from the 100-year old pine in our yard. I then proceeded to call cows off Highway 35 for an hour. Lucky for me, boss cow 001 was quite helpful and stood along the double yellow to stop the traffic while the rest of the herd filed back through the double red gates. 

And then I heard the fire alarm going off inside our house. I FORGOT ABOUT THE PIE! I had volunteered to make a pie for an auction, organized by a local church of which I’ve never even attended. This was to be my big break to 1) be noticed for my pie baking skills by someone (anyone), 2) collaborate creatively and 3) very likely become best friends with The Pioneer Woman in Oklahoma. But stray stock and a toddler still swinging in a lone pine tree now had smoke barreling through our farmhouse! 

I did what any clear-thinking, strong-willed mother would do: I drug a hose from the barn to the house and fought the Great Pie Fire of 2019 with a baby strapped to my chest. I was basically the poster woman for the next Duluth Trading  ad. The kitchen was a wreck, but the pie surprisingly turned out alright. I flaked off the black parts into the trash and added some butter for character. 

Then I remembered that when Caroline was in sixth grade, I never paid for field trip dues and she wasn’t allowed to go the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and meet Dale Earnhardt Jr. (I know, this doesn’t make sense). And because of my lack of pay, she didn’t get into her first-choice college and basically never loved me in the same way again. 

Only seconds after that fiasco, Cyrus quit eating baby food and regressed to preferring only “almond milk”. Which is quite terrifying for a mother who clearly understands that you cannot milk an almond. Don’t get me started on the fact that I just bought 40 tubs of baby food at Meijer because they were on sale. 

My hands were sweating. My hair was falling out. My children were turning against me…and milk.

And then, I woke up. I didn’t make a move, but laid on the bed and listened. 

I heard Cody playing peek-a-boo with Cyrus downstairs. I heard Caroline talking about black bears in her sleep, one room over. I looked at my phone: I’d been asleep for almost an hour. 

This snoozy Sunday situation only confirms 

the fact that mothers never actually sleep, 

we just worry with our eyes closed. 

And I will probably never nap again. 

It’s just not worth the stress.