Monday, December 12, 2011

Rhythms and Nighttime Rituals

No bed.
Yes, bed.
No bed.
Yes, bed.
No bed.

And so begins the wind-down ritual for most nights.

“Open your mouth,” I say. “Let me see if there is a big yawn inside.” Sam opens wide; a yawn big enough to engulf the entire room emerges. “Wow. That is a really big yawn.” I observe. “You must be very tired.”

That response signals the start of another word volley with a quick, staccato rhythm:

No bed.
Yes, bed.
No bed.
Yes, bed.
Tomorrow bed.
Tonight bed. 
TOMMORROW bed!

I take a different tack: “Look outside. What do you see?”  Sam responds, “Nighttime.” Smiling I ask, “And what do you do when it is nighttime? “Sleep” he responds, yawning again. His yawns are contagious; I yawn, too. Sam smiles up at me observing, “Mommy is very tired.” Yes, I acknowledge.

“Turn off the laptop, please.” I direct. Within a moment or three or four he complies. “Thank you!” I compliment lavishly. “You are such a good listener! I will put it on your bureau for you tomorrow.” I feel his eyes watch as I tuck the laptop up high on his bureau. “Shall I stay or go?” I ask. Firmly he says, "Go." Once upon a time the answer would have been “stay” but like most teens, he pulls away. Because I have lingered a moment, he punctuates with second "Go." I leave, briefly saddened at the banishment but happy at the appropriateness.

The house grows quiet.

Later I wake, confused from sleep, sensing someone at my side. I squint up at Sam as he begins to pull my hand.

“Laptop?” he asks. I glance over at the clock. 3:17 AM. “No,” I respond, “it is still nighttime. Go back to bed.” Many nights he returns to his room and falls back to sleep. Tonight sleep eludes. I hear the TV softly in his room. Sam returns at 3:28 and then again at 3:42. “Laptop?” he asks hopefully each time.

But it isn’t the laptop he wants. He lacks the words to express the trouble. Is it heartburn? A bad dream? Does he even dream, I wonder? He has never been able to tell me.

I give him two Tums hoping it will help. He looks at me imploringly. “Do you want me to come with you?” I ask. “Yes. Yes, come.” He suddenly looks so very young despite the football player build of his 6’1” frame.

Sam lays his head on my shoulder as I sit on his bed. I hold him tightly. “Squeeze him,” he demands, “squeeze him tight.” I wrap my arms around him more tightly. It calms him. I feel his body relax.

Have the Tums kicked in or is it simply the calming touch of another person? I don’t know.

“Roll over,” he abruptly announces, the signal for me to release my grip. I wait as his breathing slows into a sleep rhythm, carefully pulling the comforter up. I admire the innocence of his sleep before slipping quietly back into my room.

Hoping to sleep, I glimpse the very beginnings of dawn out my window.  I put my head down. All too quickly the alarm rings, signaling the beginning of another day. 



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3 comments:

  1. I'm so sleepy now. My Christmas tree was the culprit for me last night, but seriously, you're making me tired...
    I love how you ask him to open his mouth so you can see if there's a yawn in there. So clever!
    Your writing doesn't seem terribly sleep-deprived to me, btw.

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  2. I think I have asked Sam to open his mouth to show me his big yawn upwards of 4,000 times. Our routine has remained the same for many years and yet it still surprises me each time it works. I love big yawns.

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  3. You write with such grace and beauty! I miss the routines sometimes - I love you guys! You are doing an amazing job - keep it up!!! <3 <3 all my love and strength to you all!! <3 <3

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