When you have children you pretty much throw any and all quality sleep out the window. By the fourth child you can consider yourself a zombie lifer. Which isn't to say it's not important -- it is. After weeks (months) of compromised Z's, you begin to feel it. That's the zone I've been hovering in for the last few weeks -- just not quite enough sleep.
Oh, but sleep is sweet. It is better than gold and diamonds and milk and honey and all of it. When people talk about going on fancy vacations, I'm secretly imagining my own vacation -- in a darkened, quiet room with the coziest bed in the world. I would sleep for 8 to 10 days straight, only waking up to eat some pancakes here or there... So yes, sleep is a coveted commodity over here -- and rarely is a good night's sleep realized. Usually this alarm clock tells me things like: 1:00! And 2:17!! And 3:43!!! I say things to this clock like: "Dammit, you shit." And, "Really? 2:17 again... you son of a bitch." And when it's any of the 3 o clock times I'll say something along the lines of, "Oh 3:30... we meet again. Effer." We have that kind of relationship, the alarm clock and I...
But this morning I woke up and it was in the sevens. That rarely (never) happens. So I had only sweet nothings for the clock today. My sweet little honey baby in the SEVENS!!! It made me happy, and the filled up sleep tank will make me happy all day.
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