The Power of Suggestion
W had a sleepover last week, so Meems and her brother T had some quality time together. Just the two of them. Which oftentimes is a recipe for disaster, but this time, THIS TIME, it was good. So good, in fact, that it was almost magic. Which, as a mom, is something. Because it means that everything is running smoothly all at once and there is peace. Which almost never happens. Ever.
So, things were going so swimmingly they decided to have a sleepover in T's room. He has bunk beds. Which everyone here thinks is super cool, even if he won't let anyone else sleep on the top. And besides, Meems' room is pink, and T doesn't do pink.
The sleepover is marvelous, and they are even being quiet in their talking and giggling. And then a creak, creak, and a little head pops over the stair railing. "We can't sleep. We need sleeping pills."
Herein lies a slippery slope. I occasionally give them Melatonin to help them sleep, as Meems takes medication that can make her wakeful. Which is dreadful for all involved. It's like the aftermath of a nuclear meltdown when the kid doesn't get enough sleep. However, I have long feared that they will take the interpretation of these "vitamins" up a notch and my children will tell their friends' parents at a sleepover that their mother gives them sleeping pills. Knowing Meems, she will add that her mommy typically lets her wash it down with wine. Where she gets this stuff... she loves to shock.
Walking the child back into the bedroom (she has been dispatched to break this news to the parents, as her brother is suspended in mid-air and it is dark and he is clumsy and she loves to be in charge anyway), I explain to her that in order to sleep, one must close his/her eyes and mouth. Because it is very nearly impossible to fall asleep while talking with your eyes open.
"We've tried that."
Oh? You don't say. "Well, then the only thing for you to do is to close your eyes and make your body limp like a spaghetti noodle. A cooked one (quickly added so there's no confusion over the fact that uncooked noodles are not, in fact, limp). Pretend you're jelly. Now, breathe deeply through your nose. That's it, in...and out...See?"
Just as I'm thinking, "God, where do I come up with this stuff" T says, "ahhh, that's nice" to which Meems adds, "I feel restful now" and T adds again, glee in his voice "so welaxing...this weally works like a chawm."
Amazingly, it did work. And it worked the next night as well, as, still feeling the love they decided to have another sleepover (so excited about it, in fact, that Meems didn't even notice she was going to be a whole half hour earlier) and informed me as I left the room after tucking them in that they had decided to be noodles again. As I descended the stairs, I hear a chorus of "i am SO welaxed wight now" and "i feel sleepy already" and "it's, like, magic or something or being at a spa" and "this bweaving fing weally wuhks!"
I don't know when she's ever been to a spa, but whatever.
Magic. It does exist.