We’re getting ready to go pick up Greg’s mid-life crisis vehicle (our little MLC) and to spend a much needed week near the ocean. In fact it is just bout as close as you can get to the ocean without being on a 42’ sailboat owned by a certain husband’s cousin, sailing across the Juan de Fuca straight. Memories, misty water colored memories. I digress. Anyway, I’m hoping this year will go better than the last time we went to the coast two years ago when Emily refused to sleep. In fact, if you listened carefully you could hear her mumbling something like:
I am Sam
I am Sam
Sam I am
That Sam-I-am!
Than Sam-I-am!
I do not like
that Sam-I-am!
Do you like
deep sleep in a bed?
I do not like that,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
deep sleep in a bed.Will you like to sleep
in a car?
Will you like to sleep
in some arms?
Not in a car.
Not in some arms.
Not in a house.
Not in a blouse.
I will not sleep here or there.
I will not sleep anywhere.
I will not sleep deep in a bed.
I do not like that, Sam-I-am.
At the time we didn’t worry about her frightening mumbling so much as we worried about our ability to function as a human being during our trip. Because, trust me, it was a struggle not to look like a troglodyte seeing light for the first time. A troglodyte addicted to coffee who has had his stash taken away for months. One that had to use toothpicks to keep his eyes open. Yeah, THAT kind of pretty.
So, we’re worried about our ability to sleep a TOTAL of eight hours over the week, let alone consecutively each night. This year we have an additional concern. My son’s teeth. Last night at dinner, Braedyn managed to turn my stomach to mush. Not in the cute, hey look at me do my own hair kind of way or the watch me slide down this slide by myself kind of way. No. He took his index finger and wiggled his bottom tooth. I may as well be in an operating room elbow deep in someone’s intestines because watching him wiggle his tooth does the same thing to my stomach. RETCH. Just ask Jacob who will be 18 soon how I reacted when he wiggled his teeth in his wee youth. You got it. RETCH.
In addition to losing my dinner, I started to cry. My son is growing up! I’ve told him he’s not allowed to do that, but he heeds that warning just about as much as when I tell him to stop playing at bed time. When he was 5 months old I saw that first tooth coming through and I raced him to the nearest Kiddie Kandids for the last of his toothless wonder grins. Well, until he’s 98 and fanatically licking his lips.
So, here we are, getting ready for our vacation and Braedyn has a loose tooth. I’m calling all tooth fairies and asking them to please, please have some spare change with them while we are away from home. The tooth fairy will not be able to scrounge around our house for a gem to trade the tooth for, so she had better be prepared! What could be worse than not finding anything in our vacation rental to give for this monumental first tooth loss? Well, not finding anything AND being sleep-deprived I suppose.
At least my son is still fully enveloped by his innocent youth, even with that revolting loose tooth. I overheard this conversation yesterday:
Braedyn to Emily: Will you let me marry you when I grow up?
Emily: No.
Braedyn: Awww!
Emily: <muffled noise>
Braedyn: What? You’ll let me marry you when I grow up?
Emily: Yeah.
Braedyn: Will you go in my room with me?
Emily: Why?
Braedyn: Because I’m scared by myself.
And then later to me:
Braedyn: When I’m a daddy, and Emily is a mommy, she’ll let me marry her.
Good to know. I guess if that comes to fruition I have more things to worry about than teeth falling out.