Sleep like the dead?

It’s an ungodly hour, and sleep will not come. Insomnia. Old -age? My kids sleep like the dead. Teenagers. (son 19, daughter 17) Insomnia is foreign to them. I wonder what it would be like to sleep like the dead. THEN, I began to wonder what would happen if I REALLY died. In my sleep or something. How long would it be before my kids figured it out? And I came up with a scenario. Yeah, it’s an exaggeration. (I hope.) Picture this:

Mike & Kim…sitting in the frontroom, watching MTV…

Kim: looking up from her sketchpad…where she is forever drawing variations of “Kim & Doug (her b/f) For Life” logos “Man…I HATE the chick in this video. What a skank!”

Mike: looking up from his perusal of the “Musician’s Friend” catalog “Takes one to know one…hey, let’s put the Cubs game on.”

Kim: smiling & flipping Mike off

Mike: grabbing the remote, switching to WGN to watch the Cubs fold in the 9th inning “Dude…Cubs suck. Hey, Kim…you smell that? Heh…is that your feet, or did you forget to take out the garbage again?”

Kim: insulted " My feet do NOT smell like THAT! And the garbage is YOUR job, dork. Doesn’t smell like it’s coming from the kitchen, though."

Mike: back to the catalog “Why don’t you go check it out? Smells pretty nasty.”

Kim: rolling her eyes “Why don’t YOU go check it out, lazyass? Garbage is YOUR job.”

Mike: not wanting to check it out “Where’s mom? Maybe she threw some hamburger meat away or sumpin’.”

Kim: sighing “I dunno where mom is. Maybe she’s at the store.”

Mike: * deciding to take action…yelling* “MOM??? ARE YOU HOME? ARE YOU UPSTAIRS???”

Kim: “Hmmm…why dontcha see if she’s upstairs?”

Mike: “Damn…I don’t wanna go all the way up there. I’ll call her cell phone” (…they ALWAYS do this…even when I’m home.)

Mike: dialing…sound of my phone from upstairs, which is clutched in my decaying fingers, ringing " Hmmm…I can hear the phone, but mom’s not answering."

Kim: sighing “I’LL go up and see.”

Kim: trudging upstairs "Ewww!!! Dude!! The smell is stronger up here!! knocking on my door “Mom? Can I come in?” (no answer, 'cause I’m dead, ya see) Kim opens my door…the smell of rot is overwhelming…she sees my little carcass lying on the bed…

Kim: yelling “MIKE!!! I THINK I KNOW WHAT THAT SMELL IS!!! MOM’S SORTA DEAD!!!”

Mike: rolling his eyes “Knock it off, Kim.”

Kim: " REALLY!!! Get up here, now!"

Mike: hauling his ass off the couch…trudging up the stairs…hits the bedroom…sees my corpse. “Dude. You weren’t kidding.”

Kim: “Ummm…is really she dead?”

Mike: calm…NOTHING phases this kid… “Yup. She bit the big one.”

Kim: pissed “Shit…she was gonna streak my hair tonight, too. So…ummm…what do we do now?”

Mike: thinking Ummm…I guess we oughtta call 911 or something…huh?"

Kim: “You do it.”

Mike: " Aw, I get all nervous talkin’ to police dudes on the phone, Kim. You do it. "

Kim: angry “Dammit, Mike!!! YOU DO IT!!! GARBAGE IS YOUR JOB, REMEMBER???”

And…scene. Exit stage left. Yeah, I showed this to my kids. Their responses? Kim: “Oh, mom…that part about your little carcass…it almost made me cry! But the rest was really funny!”

Mike: “Ummm…I don’t say “Dude” that much, do I mom?” (yes…he does). Now, since it’s 6am, time to make the coffee and wake the teenagers, who are sleeping like the…well…dead. As per usual.

That was hilarious! Now I see what I miss by only having one teenager in the house.

And I can sympathize with you about the sleep thing. I go through cycles where I wake 3 and 4 times a night for no apparent reason. Luckily, I’ve just had 3 fairly good night’s sleep, so I’m feeling almost normal. Of course, by stating that, I’m now going to spend the next two weeks tossing and turning every night. <sigh>

Only one teenager? Consider yourself lucky. The little scenario I wrote contains a rare example of them co-existing peacefully. Most of the time, they pass each other like ships in the night…hurling insults at each other as they go. If Kim’s out and calls the house asking for me, Mike will say: “Mom, it’s your retarded daughter on the phone.” Kim will then yell: “I heard that!!! You suck, Mike!!! Give mom the phone!!!” Mike will then hand me the phone and whisper: “Trained monkey…you know you want to.”
Explanation? Mike always wanted a monkey as a pet. Once he saw a trained monkey on TV wearing a fez. He pointed to it & said: “Mom, that monkey is SO much cooler than Kim…it wears a fez, we can train it to wash the dishes! We wouldn’t need Kim anymore!!! Can we trade her for one?” In the midst of the teenage years, when his little sister irritated him more and more, he’d shout: “Let’s trade her for a trained monkey!!!” Now… it’s gotten to the point where, when Kim gets into a jam (which is often) he’ll just look at me and mutter: “You know you want to”. He doesn’t even need to mention the monkey part anymore. And yeah, sometimes I think about trading BOTH of 'em for trained monkeys. One to take out the garbage…one to do the dishes. But would they watch MTV? Hmmm…