I can't be the only one

If there’s anything in this world that can turn me into a rabid monkey quicker than you can say “What the hoo ha?” it’s when the peaceful silence of naptime is threatened to be destroyed. I’ve always known the importance of a good nap, but it wasn’t until I had kids that I truly understood how naptime can be a lifeline for many a parent out there, a little nugget of heaven that one hopefully gets to enjoy everyday. I’m not even talking so much about me being able to nap. No. It’s the quiet slumber of my children somewhere between the hours of noon and four o’clock that keeps me from going stark raving mad, or simply just passing out. As of right now, I usually manage to have Bosco and Bubba’s naps overlap for a brief one hour window. That’s right. One whole hour where I can sit down, look at the ceiling, and twiddle my thumbs if I so choose. I don’t usually do that though, but I could if I wanted. Therein lies the bliss that is naptime. I can do whatever I want, or pretty much whatever, barring of course anything that would take too long to finish or would create any amount of noise.

Surely I’m not the only one in this world who would go to insane lengths to protect this time of day from any intrusion. I can’t be the only one who has put masking tape over the doorbell button, in hopes to deter anyone from ringing it, lest it make the wee babes shoot straight up in their beds. And I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who also avoid flushing the toilet if at all possible whilst the bebes slumber.

I’m reminded of a time long, long ago when, out of a desperate need for money, I briefly worked as a telemarketer. Hey, don’t look at me like that! I was a poor college student, and if I happened to call you I wasn’t selling anything. I was calling during an election season and wanted to know if you would be attending so and so’s rally etc. and if “we” could count on your vote. (Telemarketers of the world, I feel your pain. But I felt so dirty and awful every time I walked into work that eventually I just stopped walking in). I talked to so many different people, but one particular phone call I can still remember. Before I had really even said hello to this certain Mister, he let lose with a string of obscenities that made me see stars and other $*&?%#@! symbols. Then he proceeded to berate the heck out of me for waking up his baby, who was now crying in the background. I of course apologized, and he ended the call with a quick sprinkling of expletives. Click. And I was left to ponder the whole event. My first thought was “What a freakin’ nutball fruit loop.” Then I laughed . . . heartily. Then I sort of felt bad because I hoped that Mister was able to get his child back to sleep before he completely lost it.

And now, some odd years later, I feel a kinship with this Mister. I can identify with him. How DARE anyone wake my sleeping babe, even if it was unintentional! Because when neighborhood kiddies have been ringing my doorbell lately, despite the masking tape, I want to scream in their cute little faces to BACK THE HECK OFF! I can’t do this of course. It’s not proper, and it’s certainly not pretty. So instead I quietly tell them that Bosco is asleep and no he cannot come out to play, and please don’t ring this door bell again (all while my stomach acid is churning away at an ulcer). Undeniably though, the kiddies are back the next day, doing the same thing, and I’m about a hop-scotch jump away from becoming a more lady-like version of that Mister.

My inner turmoil and angst obviously stems from the fact that I know what my children will become if naps are cut too short. They can transform into some gremlin-like creature that I’d rather not have to see or touch, not to mention the missed hour of “me time.”

 I realize that my thoughts on this might be irrational because I’m too close the situation, and I need to look at the bigger picture. But I know that there’s a certain Mister out there who’s with me. And when I look back on that phone call now, I can’t help but think that instead of just telling him I was sorry, I should have wired him a hundred bucks for his troubles . . . because that’s what I would want someone to do for me. It’s all about empathy folks. And I’ve got a lot of it now.

P.S. If you should happen to ring my doorbell, or call my home phone between the hours of 2-4 PM just know that I will not be my usually chipper awesome redhead self.