The boys and I are still awake.
We went to bed at around 10:30 pm. Or rather, we started getting into bed at around 10:30 pm. When my husband is out of town, both boys like to sleep in the big bed with me. I let them. You know why? Because I am scared. I want to keep both of them in the same room with me, with the bedroom door locked. If I remember, I’ll have my Blackberry with me in case the phone line is cut off.
THAT is always the first thing to go.
You know what I am talking about. The movies. The scary movies.
I never watch them. Except the few movies I watched when I was younger before I knew better. I stay away because I know my brain will choose to replay the scenes at the most inconvenient moments. Even the ones that are not billed specifically as scary movies, the thrillers, now add to my psychological burden.
Just as we were finally settled down, after I had threatened hundreds of times that I would send the boys back to their rooms if they didn’t go to bed, RIGHT NOW!, we heard a noise. Something had fallen.
No. Some object was knocked down.
There is a difference, isn’t it? Inside my head. Fallen vs. Knocked down
The heater started up at the exact moment. Ok. So maybe it was just my overactive imagination. Wouldn’t be the first time. I decided to ignore it.
“What was that?” My oldest sat up. “Did you hear that?”
“Yup. I did.” Resigned to a restless, probably sleepless night. Again.
He lied back down. Thank goodness. I waited for the deep breathing that signals their drifting to sleep. In the mean time, I became more and more alert.
I am so exhausted, I thought. I really should try and fall asleep. That was probably nothing. Yup. It was NOTHING. Go to sleep, you crazy woman.
As on cue, all of the movie plots involving home invasion rose up to my consciousness, scenes after scenes played themselves out behind my tightly squeezed-shut eyelids. The consequences became more and more dire because my kids would be in the movies. I am ashamed to admit this, and I was shocked by myself, but at that moment, as the plots unfolded in my frenzied mind’s eye, each one worse than its predecessor, I thought to myself, “I wish I had a gun. I wish I had bought a gun and practiced at a firing range,” because I would do anything, anything, including something that’s so against my ingrained beliefs, to protect my boys from harm. All of a sudden, I couldn’t wait for them to be all grown-up and no longer living with me. They’d be in their own apartments. Safe and sound asleep. Exactly how I like them.
“Mom? I am still thinking about the noise.” Great. I don’t need to pass on my neurosis to my children. Is it too late?
“It’s probably nothing. Just go to sleep ok?”
But we both knew we wouldn’t be able to get any shuteye, thinking that there was someone in the house.
“What are you doing?” My oldest was alarmed as I got out of the bed.
“I am going to check it out.” I checked the cordless phone for a dial tone. Still working. GOOD! I handed him the phone, “Dial 911 if anything.”
“I am coming with you!”
“No. You are staying here with your brother!” I searched the bedroom for a likely weapon. Both the steel Samurai sword and the steel Excalibur are too heavy for me to wield with any convincing malice. The wooden Samurai sword would have to do.
I opened the door and turned on all the lights from the light switches by the door. No scuttling of footsteps. GOOD! The downstairs of the house looked exactly the way we had left it. Messy. Perhaps we should have deliberately left Lego pieces on the floor as deterrent. I surveyed their bedrooms upstairs first. Nothing out of order. Internal sigh of relief.
“Are you really going to whack the bad guy with the sword?” My oldest appeared beside me.
“What are we doing?” Mr. Monk caught up with us.
“I am just going to check downstairs.”
“I am coming with you!” My oldest handed me the phone while he took the sword away from me.
“Me too!” Mr. Monk shouted.
The next ten minutes we searched the house, trying to locate the cause of the noise.
“Ah I know. It is THIS.” “No. Not it.” “Ok. It must have been THIS.” “No. Not it.” “Could it be THIS?” “No. Not that either.”
(Wouldn’t you know that as we walked around the house trying to solve the mystery, I was picking up the house along the way! I seriously need help!)
Finally, I saw a picture frame lying on the floor by a bookshelf. “Here’s what happened…” As the real Mr. Monk on TV would have said: The books next to it had apparently toppled and knocked the picture frame to the floor.
Mystery solved.
Back to bed for the boys. My oldest insisted on staying by my side “To guard you!”
“Please go to bed with your brother. He needs to be in bed.” For once, he left with his younger brother without arguing.
As I conclude this post, they are both sound asleep. I hope they were not traumatized by this incident. As for me? Well, when I picked up my Blackberry to bring it to bed with me, Never again without! I saw that my boss had sent out an email marked URGENT. Sleep is overrated anyway. At least in my neurotic world.
And I will never, ever, ever, watch another scary movie in my life. I scare myself enough.
