Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Night Owls


CharleeRose is a night owl. Her dad works from 5:30 in the afternoon until closing time at two a.m., and sometimes as late as three. CharleeRose doesn't want to go to bed until her Daddy gets home and all is right with the world. She won't nap, either—too afraid to miss anything. Try as we might to get her sleepy, she angrily tells us, “I'M NOT TIRED!” and bounces herself around the room, off the furniture, the dog, her brother, her parents and her grandparents. In calmer moments filled with rational discussions, adult to child, she says with a certain level of pride, “I'm incapable of sleep.” We got a trampoline in the hopes that she would bounce the energy clean out of herself. She loves it—wants to bounce and run around and kick balls pretending to play soccer. It gives her great exercise outdoors, is a draw for other kids in the neighborhood, but as for exhausting her naturally, it hasn't helped. But, then, if I am honest with myself, if I didn't have to go to work at three a.m. myself, just about the time her daddy gets home, my own day clock would return to night owl status, too. It's more my natural rhythm: in bed by three, up by noon. So maybe there is a genetic component operating here. As it is I go against nature—my nature—and the grandkids both think it's hysterical that Opa has to go to bed before they do even on a school night. As for CharleeRose, she remains incapable of sleep. We keep trying. Victory is getting her to fall asleep before Daddy gets home. For her Opa, victory is getting her to fall asleep before I do. That has happened, I believe, once, just last week. She passed out on Oma's lap before eleven p.m. and I did a victory lap around the house with Dublin, the dog, who happily bounded along with me after I woke her up.

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