It all began two or three years ago when B lost his micro-drone. It was his own fault, he’ll admit now. J told him not to fly it so high because it was a windy day, but B wanted to get it as high as he could.
And the wind whisked it away, out of reach of the remote control.
It was a tragic day, but J and I decided we wouldn’t replace it because B had to learn the consequences of his actions.
Fast forward to a few days ago. His interest in his larger drone re-ignited, but it wasn’t of good quality and no longer would fly very high or very long.
I talked to J, then we talked to B. We would be happy to buy him another drone, if he thought he was going to start playing with it again. The next day, I was ordering another micro-drone from Amazon, which is due to come tomorrow from the writing of this story. We figured he’d learned his lesson, and since losing the first micro-drone he’s matured. Now that you’ve got the background, let’s get into the adventure…
“I can’t sleep.”
I happen to already be awake when B makes this announcement from his bedroom at around three in the morning. I think J is awake, too.
(In case you have no idea why J and I should be able to hear, from our bed, B calling us from his bedroom, watch the following video which is a tour of our tiny house.)
I’m not terribly shocked by B’s way-too-early announcement. After all, he spent half the day yesterday wandering around restlessly, and warned us that he was going to have trouble sleeping.
Still, I don’t welcome the interruption.
I’ve been lying on my left side, and turn my face up so my voice won’t be muffled. “That’s not our problem! We’re trying to sleep!” I scold, then turn back over.
If J hasn’t been awake, he is now.
Silence for a minute. Then, my Mommy Sympathy descends. I should do something to try to help him sleep. So I ask, “Do you want Daddy to put some lavender on the bottom of your feet?”
Why do I volunteer J’s services, you might ask? TMI coming up…
…We sleep in our birthday suits.
And it’s a lot easier for J to slip on a pair of shorts than for me to get properly covered if B needs tending at night.
“Might as well try,” comes the reply from over the loft above the bathroom.
Without a word, J gets up and does his fatherly duty.
Not five minutes after J slips back into bed: “I need to go poop!”
It’s not B’s habit to need to defecate so early in the morning…unless he’s super-excited about something. As a Highly Sensitive Person, he has a sensitive digestive system that is affected by strong emotions.
I groan and roll onto my back yet again. “You’re supposed to take care of that yourself.”
See, here’s the thing: since we live in such a small house, to turn on the one main light in the middle of the house when it’s still dark is to ruin any hope of sleep for anyone for the next hour. So I’ve instructed B about how to turn on the light in his own room, then take his flashlight into the bathroom so he can turn on the bathroom light, then use the flashlight to help him wash his hands in the kitchen after.
“Sorry,” B says. Some rustling, then, “My flashlight doesn’t work.”
I can’t see, but I’m sure J rolls his eyes as he rolls out of bed, trudges to the bathroom, and flicks on the bathroom light. Then he goes into the kitchen to plug in the lamp.
He hasn’t even made it back into our bed when B declares, “Never mind. I don’t have to go anymore.”
I squeeze my eyelids with a sigh.
More silence. Then, “I’m nauseous.”
Please don’t let him throw up. Please don’t let him throw up, I pray. Because in the past, a bout of excitement-provoked diarrhea has led to a bout of puking, and vice versa. Then I tell J, “Give him the empty peppermint oil bottle to sniff.”
I guess it works, because he doesn’t complain anymore about being nauseous. And the light above his bedroom goes off.
Finally. I might get a little more sleep before it’s time to –
Light back on. “I need to go poop again. Hurry! Before the urge goes away.”
With a groan, J gets out of bed and turns the lights on that he’s turned off minutes before.
B climbs down out of his loft bed and has success this time.
Somewhere in there, I manage to doze off for about half an hour. But B never does get back to sleep.
And I remember the real reason it took us so long to replace the lost micro-drone:
B gets excited at the prospect of a new toy. When he’s excited, he loses sleep. And if B loses sleep, so do we.
PS – B would like everyone to know that “It was the worst night of my life.”