When I went to bed the other night, everyone was where they should be, kids all tucked up asleep. Stig was watching TV and said he’d be in shortly. I fell asleep in a house of calm, quiet order.
When I awoke at 4am though, the living room TV was blaring. As I tried to focus my eyes I realised that it wasn’t Stig who was lying next to me, but Charlie. Further investigation (stumbling around the house trying to locate my husband) revealed that Stig was asleep on Charlie’s bed and Sam and Nicki were asleep on the living room sofas with the TV on full blast.
This is not unusual in Hayes house. I love my bed and for the life of me cannot fathom why kids would rather sleep in the most uncomfortable of places, covered in nothing but a threadbare throw rung, freezing cold, than in their comfy warm beds. What possesses someone, when they wake up at 3am, to think, ‘I know, I’ll leave this dimly lit haven, wonder downstairs and catch the latest episode of the shopping channel’??? And why turn it up loud? I am waiting for them to start dreaming about cheap replica jewellery or the latest exercise gizmo.
We’ve tried all sorts, they all have bedding in their favourite colours; in Jamie and Nicki’s case this is red and pink respectively, so their bedroom, worryingly, is slightly reminiscent of a cheap brothel, complete with a reddish glow as their light shade and Nicki’s bedside lamp are a deep pink. They all have character bedding, Sam has Disney cars, rockets and Mario plastered everywhere. Charlie (much to Sam’s indignence as they also share a room) has In the Night Garden, Thomas the Tank and Tweenies bedding and stuffed toys everywhere. I’m beginning to feel like I’m being stalked by Iggle bloody Piggle, because not content to keep the entire population of the night garden in his room, Charlie leaves effigies of him all over the damn house.
Years ago I would scurry around in the wee hours, re-depositing small children in varying states of consciousness into their own beds. But having four smallish children it just became farcical. So now they get left where they are with a spare duvet chucked over them if they’re lucky. I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter where we sleep as long as we do actually manage to get a decent night’s kip!
When I awoke at 4am though, the living room TV was blaring. As I tried to focus my eyes I realised that it wasn’t Stig who was lying next to me, but Charlie. Further investigation (stumbling around the house trying to locate my husband) revealed that Stig was asleep on Charlie’s bed and Sam and Nicki were asleep on the living room sofas with the TV on full blast.
This is not unusual in Hayes house. I love my bed and for the life of me cannot fathom why kids would rather sleep in the most uncomfortable of places, covered in nothing but a threadbare throw rung, freezing cold, than in their comfy warm beds. What possesses someone, when they wake up at 3am, to think, ‘I know, I’ll leave this dimly lit haven, wonder downstairs and catch the latest episode of the shopping channel’??? And why turn it up loud? I am waiting for them to start dreaming about cheap replica jewellery or the latest exercise gizmo.
We’ve tried all sorts, they all have bedding in their favourite colours; in Jamie and Nicki’s case this is red and pink respectively, so their bedroom, worryingly, is slightly reminiscent of a cheap brothel, complete with a reddish glow as their light shade and Nicki’s bedside lamp are a deep pink. They all have character bedding, Sam has Disney cars, rockets and Mario plastered everywhere. Charlie (much to Sam’s indignence as they also share a room) has In the Night Garden, Thomas the Tank and Tweenies bedding and stuffed toys everywhere. I’m beginning to feel like I’m being stalked by Iggle bloody Piggle, because not content to keep the entire population of the night garden in his room, Charlie leaves effigies of him all over the damn house.
Years ago I would scurry around in the wee hours, re-depositing small children in varying states of consciousness into their own beds. But having four smallish children it just became farcical. So now they get left where they are with a spare duvet chucked over them if they’re lucky. I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter where we sleep as long as we do actually manage to get a decent night’s kip!
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