Man, I feel like I haven\u2019t slept in months. Know why? Because I haven\u2019t.<\/p>\n
Partly, I blame high-definition streaming television, with its ample selection of softcore pornography masquerading as historical drama, sci-fi fantasy and\/or women\u2019s prison comedy.<\/p>\n
I also fault the seasonal ubiquity of ice cream in our freezer; I just can\u2019t help but lie on the couch for hours, basking in the frosty afterglow. Or, fighting indigestion.<\/p>\n
But mostly, it\u2019s my kids who rob me of sleep (and with it my youthful vigor, although TV and ice cream bear some responsibility, too). This time of year, every year, not only do they resist going to bed \u2014 they don\u2019t stay in bed, either.<\/p>\n
Our 8-year-old daughter\u2019s room faces the rising sun, point blank. Of course, I put up a blackout curtain \u2014 by which I mean aluminum foil and duct tape \u2014 but still, by four in the morning it\u2019s like a tanning salon in there. And she\u2019s up and ready to start cooking breakfast \u2026 using knives. And the stove.<\/p>\n
Then there\u2019s our 5-year-old son, who, despite scoring the darkest, coolest room in the whole house, inherited my wife\u2019s propensity for extremely light sleeping (whereas I can sleep, and have slept, through gunfire; we used to live in Brooklyn and the Matanuska-Susitna Valley). Point is, any given night, all summer long there\u2019s invariably some yahoo in our neighborhood shooting off fireworks. Between that and Harry Potter-based nightmares, the boy spends more time in my bed than I do.<\/p>\n
Anyway, I\u2019m tired. How tired am I?<\/p>\n
I\u2019m so tired I\u2019ll fall asleep any time I sit quietly for more than a few minuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz<\/p>\n
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz<\/p>\n
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.<\/p>\n
Sorry. Must\u2019ve dozed off for a second. I\u2019ll just put on some Slayer, here. \u2026 Oh, yeah, much better.<\/p>\n
Now, where was I?<\/p>\n
Ah, yes. I\u2019m so tired the bags under my eyes have bags under their eyes. But the bags under those bags sprung for Botox, so they\u2019re looking pretty tight, actually.<\/p>\n
So what if that doesn\u2019t make sense? I\u2019m so tired I don\u2019t even want to argue. \u2026 Actually, no, that\u2019s not true. I\u2019m an insufferable know-it-all; I love arguing.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m so tired I dream about sleeping. Not that it\u2019s unusual for me to dream about being in bed with my eyes shut in pure bliss \u2014 only in these dreams, I\u2019m passed out, fully clothed, and Laura Prepon isn\u2019t there. (Yes, Laura Prepon. I\u2019m a ginger and a narcissist; I have a thing for redheads.)<\/p>\n
I\u2019m so tired, I down a 5-Hour Energy every five minutes, and still nothing. Weird; it works for all the people in their commercials.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m so tired I spend entire weekends \u2014 plus all state and federal holidays \u2014 tag-team napping with my wife. And we\u2019ll continue to do so until our daughter figures out how to pick the lock on our bedroom door (and she\u2019s getting perilously close).<\/p>\n
In fact, the only time my wife and I are both awake together these days is when we\u2019re putting the kids to bed.<\/p>\n
Actually, that\u2019s not entirely true. Every once in a while, as I said, we do manage to stick it out to the televised portion of our night \u2014 on separate couches, of course. But usually we\u2019re both passed out before the second act plot twist (especially for episodes light on the softcore pornography).<\/p>\n
Happy coincidence: this usually takes place right when one of the children wakes up for the first of what can be as many as seven more times (never fewer than three). Hence, even when I attempt to cadge an eight hour-night\u2019s sleep, it\u2019s all hacked up into bits. So on the rare occasions I actually get the Laura Prepon dream, I\u2019m always interrupted. Then Laura gets all weirded-out and bails.<\/p>\n
I know, I know: I shouldn\u2019t complain. If I want more sleep, I should move down South (which I\u2019d be a fool to do now that we might get a Dave & Buster\u2019s).<\/p>\n
That\u2019s the thing about Juneau. It\u2019s like that Eagles song \u201cHotel California\u201d: you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave. I guess what I\u2019m trying to say is, we are all just prisoners here. Of our own device.<\/p>\n
And so I\u2019ve come to accept summertime exhaustion as part of the deal I\u2019ve struck to live here. Plus, my wife just brought home an industrial grade coffee grinder, so it\u2019s all good.<\/p>\n
Still, that doesn\u2019t stop me from griping entirely. The other night, discussing the situation with my mother, she had the nerve to blame me \u2014 me! \u2014 and the rest of today\u2019s parents for our collective ineptitude.<\/p>\n
Apparently, we\u2019re doing it wrong, and not just sleep training \u2014 she means everything, in general. When my mom and her septuagenarian friends get together, that\u2019s what they talk about, all the mistakes we\u2019re making with their grandchildren.<\/p>\n
Okay, mom, well, if that\u2019s the case. \u2026 Where do you think I learned my parenting skills? Who taught me how to do this stuff?<\/p>\n
You, all right! I learned it by watching you!<\/p>\n
Parents who indulge their kids, have children who indulge their kids. This message brought to you by the Partnership for a Nap-Free America.<\/p>\n
\u2022 Geoff Kirsch is a Juneau-based writer and humorist. \u201cSlack Tide\u201d appears every second and fourth Sunday in Neighbors.<\/p>\n
Related stories:<\/p>\n
Gimme Shelter (Island)<\/a><\/p>\n Love won a year ago today<\/a><\/p>\n