Precious Sleep

What is the best thing about having a nine year old and a four and a half year old?  Sleep. My boys let me sleep in on the weekends. They're too young to be out late at night, keeping me awake with worry. I've earned this rest:  both boys woke up to eat until they were eleven months old. Dang acid reflux. 

Then the other night, B woke me up at 1 a.m. to let me know he couldn't sleep. This is highly unusual for him. I rolled out of bed and heated up some milk.  My little skeptic questions everything, so I explained that warming milk produces a chemical to help people sleep. 

Once he was snuggled in an armchair with a cozy blanket and a mug of warm milk, I googled to find out the specifics. This just in: warm milk as a sleeping agent is cited as a myth on so many sites.  Google it. 

I couldn't tell him that. 

So, I read him as much truth as I could.  Warm milk has triptophan, which helps people sleep. It increases sweatin in and melatonin production. It helps fill empty stomachs. The warmth of the milk helps people relax. 

My seventh grade English students explored bias in nonfiction this past nine weeks. Oh, the irony. 

Then I tucked B in, and left him working through the "grateful game". Instead of counting sheep, we think of someone or something we are grateful for for each letter of the alphabet. 

Then I headed off to bed, where I spent the next forty minutes trying to fall asleep.

B rides with me to work and then home or up pick up G every day.  He helps me on my classroom. He goes shopping with me. Still, it has been quite a while since he's asked me for advice. Most oft forty minutes of insomnia was spent feeling grateful that he still needs me sometimes. I was also extremely grateful that it's not often during the middle of the night.