Monday, October 17, 2011

Too Much Fun

Throughout the day, the Mister prods me for details, "what are you thinking about?" or "tell me about your day" and "are you thinking or just spacing out?" and always I don’t have much to say. Until my head hits the pillow. Strangely, magically, I turn into a chatterbox. And all I want to do is talk about my day, who I saw, funny things I said, our favorite memories of this date or that date or when we first knew we loved each other, what we want to name potential future children, and on and on. And all Mister wants to do is sleep. And then I get upset. And then Mister apologizes. But he can’t remember what I was wearing on our first date. And he doesn’t think what I said earlier that day was very funny. And then he falls asleep.

And I lay there. Staring at the ceiling. Not sure what to do.

Because I grew up with sisters. And I always shared a room. And we always spent an hour after "going to bed" talking or playing. And we had so much fun. And when we were especially small my mother or father would knock on the door and say in their most intimidating parent voice "Girls! It’s time to go to sleep!" And we would be quiet for about two minutes and start the fun all over again.

There was the shopping game: take the tag from the bedspread and use it as a shopping list. Walk around the bed picking out four oranges and a box of raisins and everything else on the list. One sister is the shopper and the other is the cashier. Then we switched.

There was the fake dollhouse game: Pretend that there are people who are one inch tall and they live in a house as big as our bedroom. What would they do with that many rooms? How many children do they have? We decide that both of our "peoples" families will live in the same house but on different floors. Which floors do you want? I decide that the father of my family is Omar Vizquel. My family is instantly a million times more cool than my sister’s family, but I let them stay in the giant house anyway.

We tell our parents we can't sleep without our favorite baby dolls, proceed to play with baby dolls all night, "my baby needs a diaper change," "my baby is learning how to walk," and then in the morning both baby dolls are on the floor. I think this was the first indication that I would not be a good snuggler. Sorry Mister.

We tell our parents we can't sleep in the dark. We need the nightlight to be on at all times. No Daddy, you can't turn it off when you go to bed. We NEED it. And then we use the nightlight to read stories until very late at night, and then "GIRLS! IT'S TIME TO GO TO SLEEP!"

We always got in trouble for having too much fun.

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