Richmond Parents Monthly | Family Magazine

the frumpy zone by colleen r. lee

Eight Hours of Sleep? You Must Be Dreaming

When you decide to have children, you don’t realize that you’re signing up for a lifetime of sleep deprivation. This is what nights are like in the Frumpy Zone:
The kids are in bed watching a movie. Yes, I know that I’m breaking serious child-rearing rules here, but thanks to the lengthy naps at daycare, this is the only way I get “down time” before midnight.
I finally snuggle into my cozy bed. My whole body sighs in ecstasy as I get to participate in my favorite nighttime activity—reading in bed. (Sorry, honey.)
No sooner do I get to the bottom of the first page than my door opens and the youngest comes pitter-pattering over to my side of the bed. “I wanna rink of water.” She noisily gulps my water down and gives me The Look. This is the grin that says, “Give it up, mom—you know I’m gonna end up here anyway so just let me in bed now and we can avoid any unpleasant fussing.”
I give the OK; she climbs into my bed and burrows under the covers. A minute later, she’s fast asleep. Back to my book. A page later, I jump when I notice my son staring at me. After a hug and a “rink,” I put him back to bed, then carry his sister to her bed.
After falling asleep during the third page, I give up and turn out the light.
If the Frumpy Zone gods are happy, everyone will sleep peacefully until morning. But more often than not, one of the following things will happen:

• I’ll roll over and discover the youngest has mysteriously wedged herself between me and my husband. I will spend the rest of the night clinging to the edge to avoid getting bruised ribs.

• One of the kids will start coughing, and coughing, and coughing...

• In a sleepwalking trance, our oldest will walk into our closet to use the bathroom—mistaking the laundry basket for the toilet. (Yes, this has happened!)

• The middle-of-the-night vomiting act is the worst. (I don’t have the fortitude to write any details about this traumatic event. But thank God for front-loading washing machines!)

I’ve been told that the sleep situation doesn’t get any better when the kids become teenagers. Apparently I have to wait until my youngest moves out to get a solid, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. Only 16 years to go.

Richmond-area writer and teacher Colleen R. Lee lives with her husband and three kids in the Frumpy Zone. Visit her at www.thefrumpyzone.blogspot.com

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