There was a time when I freaked out when a human suddenly appeared in my face in the middle of the night. That time is not now. Now I'm a highly trained weapon of mass tolerance who doesn't even bat an eyelash when assaulted at 2:00 am. I think I mumble, "Go back to bed, Alexis," when I hear a noise in the middle of the night. I don't wake up, so I can't be entirely sure. It could be a dog walking around. It could be a cat on the prowl. It could be a rabid raccoon pillaging through the trash. Really, it could be anything. If ever we do have an honest-to-goodness intruder, I'm hoping that my mumbling will be enough to confuse them and maybe send them running.
Unfortunately, my mumbling does not send Alexis running. Instead, she regards it as an invitation to tell me her life story. Or, at least, her life story of the night. I usually get to hear all about the 1,002,530,852 reasons she can't sleep. They start with something made up on the spot and end with something made up on the spot, the point being that there is no good reason why the kid can't sleep like a normal human. She just doesn't need to, I guess. In her quest to seem normal, she sometimes invents reasons that she could hypothetically be too scared to sleep.
Last week the problem was that the Christmas tree in her room (SHUT UP. You tell the kid she can't have a Christmas tree in her room in July. I DARE YOU. Don't give me crap about it, though.) was dancing all around the room. I'm 100% positive Alexis has never tried LSD, so I'm guessing her tree did no such thing. She just thought that if she came up with a good enough sob story, I'll let her sleep in our bed.
It didn't work.
Before that she has blamed everything from the cat purring too loud (he sleeps in the basement--a full two stories away from her room) to the dog farting too often (honestly, I might be willing to buy what she's selling with that one). But never has she managed to confuse me quite as effectively as she did earlier this week.
It was still fairly early when Alexis ninja'd her way down the stairs and into the family room where I was sorting through photographs. I didn't hear her approach, but since I'm trained, I also didn't jump when she suddenly appeared ten inches from my face and wearing her Sad Puppy face.
"Why aren't you sleeping, Alexis?" I asked before she could open her mouth.
"I can't sleep!" she whined. She managed to say it with a bit of a scared tone to her voice, which was a new concept in our little game. Usually her scared tone is more of a "scared" tone.
"Why can't you sleep?" I asked. I could have just pushed play on the tape recorder in my head because I say that exact phrase nearly every night. If only we had a tape recorder . . .
Alexis started to cry, forcing me to look up from my laptop and acknowledge that she was really standing there. "Every time I roll over, the bed lights up," she told me.
"That's nice," I replied. "Go back to bed."
She started to cry harder, but I'm not real empathetic when the kid is supposed to be asleep. "Get going," I urged her.
"B-B-B-B-But! But! The light! I can't sleep because the red light keeps waking me up!" she insisted.
I seriously had no idea what the hell she was talking about. I also didn't really care. I just wanted her to go back to bed. We went back and forth for a few minutes, me continuing to insist that she get out of my face and her insisting that she couldn't sleep because the bed was glowing red. Or something. I didn't really know what she was trying to say, I just knew she was crazy.
It finally dawned on me that we were going to argue about the stupid fake light all night if I didn't just go look, so I grabbed the kid and hauled her butt back to bed.
"Look!" she wailed as I tried to stuff her back under the covers. "It won't stop!"
I looked at the bed and realized the kid was serious. Like, totally serious. There was a glowing red spot on the bed, right next to her pillow where her face should have been.
The bed WAS lighting up!
I studied it for a second and then began to poke at it. I had no idea what the deal was.
And then I figured it out. Mr. Husband had changed the bedding earlier in the day and He Who Is Constantly Losing the TV Remotes had done something truly amazing. He had made the bed with a TV remote tucked firmly under the sheets. Every time Alexis moved, the sheets pulled tight over the remote, pushing a button down and causing the little red light to go on.
Alexis was telling the truth.
So now I'm wondering about that Christmas tree. It would be SUH-WEET if we really did have a dancing Christmas tree in our house.
(If those two were to fall asleep on the couch together every night, I'd be OK with it. THE CUTE. IT KILLS.)