I believe I am on record saying that I was theoretically skeptical of good rest in the family bed scenario, and now I am skeptical with evidence and I think I am right. A 3-year-old little gem of a kid (he would like me to point out that he is actually 3 1/2) I was watching overnight saw something scary in his room at 4:45 am and I put him in the bed with me because I was kind of delirious, not regularly being awakened by other humans in the night. The next hour-and-a-half I lay awakeish in that weird half-state in the dark while he wiggled his brains out and managed to push me almost to the edge of the bed AND steal the covers. I feel validated in my theory that grownups cannot sleep well with a little squirmy human heater smashed on your back. And since my mind was medium cuckoo, here are other things I couldn't stop thinking about:
1. How my oldest friend in the world, Shannan, wrote about how her 30s are turning out to be fabulous and life-affirming and mine are crap. Okay, not crap, but not awesome like I now think my 20s were. At least the 20s up to 25. I have so much to be awfully glad about: that I'm so very rich, for example, and I really do have a terrific life, but I am quite jealous that Shannan is confident in the decisions she makes. Not me.
2. I almost hate to say it out loud, but it's still real, even in denial. Seriously, that game. The thing I kept seeing in my half-deluded mind was that horrible camera shot on Roy during the last 2 minutes. The saddest coach face ever.
3. Kind of separate to number 2 but also related: a question and a confession. Why are sports so emotional? Like, I'm new to the loving of it, and really what I mostly love is UNC basketball. Confession: I feel like a giant poser. I have a nebulous connection at best to UNC, which is that my address says Chapel Hill, though I am not actually a resident of Chapel Hill, nor am I an old school North Carolinian who chose my allegiance in pre-school, and I didn't go there, though I have lots of friends who did, and I barely even like sports in general, so I have a weird guilt complex about calling myself a fan. I do have a terribly generous invitation to many games in great seats in the glorious Smith Center, which both sends me further into fandom and makes me feel like an idiot. So mix that with this sick pit of sadness over a loss, and I am mystified that I feel this way. I've solicited some opinions from my family, and I think Dogey got something right on when she talked about that we experience sports as a community, large or small, and times when we are connecting with other people are necessarily emotional. My sports-loving brothers-in-law (this one too) were all kinds of comforting, and they talked about letting the agony of the killer losses be a part of the experience, which is a cool angle. Because I'm seriously broken up about being broken up, if you see what I mean.
I am accepting all theories on this phenomenon.
(PS The title of this post was stolen from a church marquee. Awesome, right?)
Right Now I Am
10 years ago
4 comments:
Along the same lines of the "looking forward to" analysis introduced by Doge, I think that deep down you're mostly sad about having to wait until next basketball season to have another one of those good diet cokes that you get at the Carolina games. If you read this you'll see why I'm not very insightful and mostly annoyed at the end of March Madness.
Mmmm, you're not wrong about that. Best Diet Coke in the state.
I have already shared my thoughts about the agony part of this post, but I do have one comment to make about the family bed. We experienced the family bed with James and I found it completely restful. I remember being a first-time father and being slightly frustrated that I didn't have much of a role in his life--mostly a little jealous of the fact that if I wasn't around, he could completely survive; unlike his beautiful mom who was providing him with much needed nourishment--but I found my solace in the family bed. I can not even begin to tell you how wonderful it was to have that little human heater snuggle up to me in the middle of the night. I think back very fondly to those moments in our strange little, emerald colored, basement bedroom in SLC. Although, sleeping with a 3 year old is a completely different story--as I recently found out trying to share a bed with Owen during our last hotel stay. He ended up on a hastily made bed on the floor, while I slept the rest of the night blissfully alone.
Actually, I am with you that there was something sweet and comforting - at first. Just when I wanted to actually sleep is when it got sketchy :)
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