Friday, August 10, 2012

House of Horrors

"I need to get some sleep. I'm so delirious, I don't even know who you are. Just that you have a mustache and wear an ascot and I agreed to have children with you."
Afternoon Readers,

     My mother has a saying, "I'll sleep when I'm dead." I used to laugh at her, but she's still alive and I've yet to see her go to sleep. I know, now, mothers aren't meant to sleep. So, I, too, shall welcome the Grim Reaper when he shows up with my sleep number mattress and black silk pajamas. Death, you shall be sweet and filled with feather pillows. As you know, we haven't been sleeping much, thanks to the twins never wanting to sleep.

We finally did something about it.

I rolled over one morning. "I'm tired of being tired."

Husband rolled over to face me. "And I'm tired of being married to Steve Buscemi."

"It's like you don't even respect my work in Fargo."

"It was a great film."

"I spent my entire 401K on coverup, and these circles still say, "You'll be a greeter at Walmart when you're seventy because the makeup didn't work, and now you're broke and smell like Vick's VapoRub."

So, we pow wowed and came up with a plan. 

I propped my eyelids open over my mug so the hot coffee would stimulate my pupils to recognize the light. "So, what's the plan? Hypnotize them? Pay them off with fake promises to send them to college? Sell them on ebay?"

"We lock them in their room."

"I like it."

That night, we put them in bed and shut the door. A great first step, as listening to the deafening and heart-rending screams of one's children through a hollow core door is the surest way to discern that no one should've ever let you be a parent. But, abruptly, they went to sleep.

We were awesome, until the first scream at eleven. And the second at midnight. And the third, prolonged at one, two, and three. We clung together in bed. I squeezed Husband's hand. "What if they break out and find us? What if our dental records aren't up to date and the police can't identify our bodies and we're buried in unmarked graves?"

He went and knocked on the door, "You two lay down and go to sleep," and shuffled back to bed.

I looked out from under the covers. "Don't come back in here. What if one of them followed you? No need for both of us to die when the better-looking one was safe."

The rest of the evening was spent in wakeful sleep. Last night was a mild improvement. Tonight, I've decided to stay only on the grounds they're my children and look enough like me, no one at the fire station would believe I was dropping them off because I, "Just found them wandering around my yard."

Until Next Time, Readers!