The Sixth Sense

You know, I’d like this to be about how I can talk to dead people, or see into the future or that I’ve got massive powers of telekinesis. (Okay, actually I do think I have a touch of clairaudience and I’m pretty sure I’ve done a little astral travel now and then. And I’ve *definitely* had sleep paralysis, but I don’t think that counts. Either way, I digress).

But no. This is more along the lines of how my kids know when I’m trying to sleep in. You know, when you’ve been up until 2 or 3 either writing, or editing, or reading, or playing WoW or whatever. And you’re thinking, well at least tomorrow is Saturday. I can sleep in.
But, no. No, you can’t.
It’s 6 am, and I hear a “thud, thud, thud, thud” coming down the hallway. “Mom. Will you come downstairs with me?”
“No. I’m sleeping. It’s like 6 in the morning.”
Nearly 6 year old gets on the bed and proceeds to play loudly with his transformers (or cars, or helicopters or whatever it is). I ignore for about 15 minutes. Which would be easier if I wasn’t constantly getting a foot in my face or whatever.
“What, mom?”
“What part of ‘I’m sleeping’ don’t you get? Either be quiet or go downstairs or go in your room and play.”
“But I don’t want to go downstairs by myself.”
“Well, I’m not getting up yet. Go away and don’t wake Lucy up.” Connor gets off the bed and plays on the floor, a little quieter, but eventually volume rackets back up to “thundering”.
“Mom, is this transformer broken? I can’t get his leg to bend.”
I take a bleary-eyed look at it. I have no clue. “Dude. You’re trying to put a round peg into a square hole. I don’t think it goes there. I don’t know. Please be quiet or go downstairs.”
“I don’t want to go downstairs by myself. That’s borrriinnnnggg.”
“You want to know what else is going to be boring?”
“When I break this thing and shove it up your ass.” (No. I didn’t say that. But I was thinking it. And you would have too. Trust me.) What I said was: “Spending the rest of the day in your room.”
3o seconds of silence.
“Hey mom, look at these quarters I found. They have buffalo on them. And here’s a dime. And a penny. How much is a dime and a penny?”
“You tell me.”
“Hey, can you tie this anchor back onto this string? I need it so that Optimus Prime can climb up the wall.”
“The one you cut off your helicopter?”
“Yeah. I don’t want it on there anymore.”
“That’s good. Because I don’t think I could fix it.”
Well, this line of conversation goes on for about the next hour or so. At which point I give up and just get up. Of course, then he has to spoil my mood and tell me that he loves me.
And all is forgiven.
Until Lucy gets up.
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