The moment that you KNOW will be the moment that sends them to the therapist. The moment that you know at least half of their college fund is going to go to an older lady in a tie-dye hoop skirt that burns incense and makes a $100 an hour to say, "and how does that make you feel?"
Well, we had that moment last night. I got home from work around one thirty, after finishing, against all odds, early, but then hanging out and running my mouth for an unGODLY length of time. Not quite yet exhausted, I caught up with the coupon world, adjusted the heat in various rooms, basically enjoyed the quiet of the wee hours and did a bit of nothing.
Eventually I decided that it would be a good idea to go to bed, and I ventured up the stairs, only to find that my side of the bed was being occupied by a blonde oompa loompa, who was sleeping quite peacefully. I tried to nudge her to the middle of the bed, but she whined and reached for my hair.
I'm SO over this kids obsession with my hair. I chopped sixteen inches of it off partially in the hopes that she, like her sisters before her, would stop playing with it incessantly. She, unlike her sisters, prefers flipping the SHORTER ends through chubby fingers, and smacking me in the face with it.
After a minute or two of struggling with the mini-blonde-me who was occupying my spot (seriously, all she was missing was a sign whining about how her entire life was unfair) I gave up and tried to settle on a dozing spot.
There's always the couch. It's got a metal bar roughly the length of my arm running directly through the middle of it, which settles in the center of my rib cage if I lay on it. Also, I prefer to sleep on my stomach, and the couch is just not quite long enough to allow that.
Not a preferable option.
Then, I can always kind of curl myself around and below the oompa loompa. I don't really sleep like this, and I get kicked in the head a lot. And strangled. And slapped in the face with small bits of hair.
What I did next I'm not REALLY proud of...
I crept into the two girls bedroom, picked up my middle child and put her in the youngest's toddler bed, and stretched out in twin.
Yup, I hijacked my kid's bed. At three am. Without turning the lights on. I am an evil mommy.
To be fair, I figured out why my youngest can't sleep in her room. Her toddler bed sounds like a bowl of rice krispies, and my middle child snores like her father and farts in her sleep.
LOUDLY. And then she giggles. And talks. And moves. And goes to the bathroom five dozen times. It's like rooming with a small blonde Urkel. Needless to say I would have been better off on the couch, and I wouldn't have had to make an extra big batch of whole wheat chocolate chip pancakes this morning to make it up to a very aggravated Little Girl.
She said, "Mommy, I don't fit in that bed. I was SQUISHED!"
Man, do I have guilt now.