A quick rant while he’s asleep.

This must be quick, because “asleep” is becoming a rare state these days. My child, the champion sleeper, has abruptly decided that sleep is overrated. Needless to say, this is driving me NUTS.

(What’s that joke about the steering wheel on the crotch and the punch line is “driving me nuts”? Someone?)

It’s not that he’s getting up early, because although he did get up at the ass-crack of dawn this morning, usually he’s a late sleeper. It’s getting him to sleep. HE DOES NOT WANT TO GO TO SLEEP. And that makes me want him to go live somewhere else, like maybe at Grandma’s. Grandma would probably find his late-night shenanigans charming. She’d feed him cookies and the two of them could watch her DVD box set of the Dean Martin show until he passed out from boredom and embarrassment for poor old Deano.

(Every time I visit my parents my mom says, “I thought we’d watch Dean Martin tonight!” And I have to remind her for the 3,000th time that I don’t really deeply enjoy watching drunk people warble popular classics of the ‘50s and then trip over some props. Maybe a few minutes of it, okay, but we’re inevitably trapped watching one episode after another at my parents’ house with the volume cranked up to a window-rattling decibel, and at some point my mother will turn to me and ask, “What are you crying about?” and I’ll say “I didn’t know I was” and then I’ll go upstairs and try to drown myself in their bathtub only I added too many Epsom Salts and I keep bobbing to the surface.)

As I was saying, he does not want to sleep. At all. We put him down at 9 p.m., and for the next three hours, every five minutes is another request from his room. First he needs A Drink. Then he needs a Toy. Then he needs Something, but He Doesn’t Know What. Then he needs a Hug and a Song. Then a Better Song. Then he wants me to Stay and Chat. And on, and so forth.

I have tried various tactics, none of which have worked. They include but are not limited to: Calming Explaining That Sleep is Important. Ignoring. Yelling. Tears. Insisting that He Fall Asleep NOW Damn It. More Tears. Attempting to Ignore, but Failing. Yelling at Husband.

You see? Failproof! Nothing could be wrong with my strategies! I am going to write one of them child rearing books that show how to rear a child good because I know.

Last night, at 11:30, after an hour of vigorous denial over the goings-on near Henry’s room, I realized that all was quiet and went to check things out. I found Scott sleeping on the floor of Henry’s room while Henry, fully upright and alert, chatted with his father’s inert form. “Darth Vader goes whoosh and the Storm Trooper turns him into Darth Vader and when I’m at the playground I go whoosh down the slide but sometimes I fall and I get a little scrape but I’m okay,” he said as his father snored lightly against the carpeting.

This had better end soon because it's cutting into my precious blog-writing and -reading time.