Olympic Sleepwalking

Some things just don't go together. Oil and Water. Light and Dark. Politics and Religion. Cagney and Lacy. Mix two things that you shouldn't and you have serious problems. Sleepwalking and Stairs present such a hazard. It is the fear of every parent whose kids sleep upstairs.

One of the great things about being a parent is bedtime. So it was that two nights ago, after getting the kids in bed, Tina and I settled into the family room to relax and watch the Winter Olympic games from Torino, Italy. We thrilled at the speed of Men's Short Track Speed Skating; we wondered at the grace of Ice Dancing; we perched on the edge of the couch at the nail-biting action of Women's Curling. That's when we heard the first hint that someone was not in bed anymore.

In just a matter of seconds, Wyatt appeared at the entrance to the family room. He pinched the "love handle" region of this sleep shirt and proudly proclaimed, "I got it". It took the trained eye of a parent only a micro second to realize that as far as he knew, he was still in bed, despite having navigated two doorways and approximately 15 stairs. Tina sprung into action and began to escort him back to his room to his warnings of, "Don't touch it!" I followed, knowing this was going to be a very humorous few minutes. As we entered his room, he all but launched into his bed from several feet away and began to snuggle in. I thought it was over. I was wrong.

Knowing that Wyatt sleeps better with his little stuffed Grover (the fuzzy blue guy from Sesame Street) I approached him to get his covers and his gear situated. As I brushed past the foot of his bed the sat up and began telling me to "Touch it" while pointing to the spare pillow at his feet. We played a modified game of "Guess What I'm Pointing At" until I held up the pillow and said, "I got it, man" He seemed happy with that and again, headed for slumber land. The next mistake was mine. I quietly asked, "Where's Grover?" He began looking around frantically until I pulled his friend out from under his bed and placed it next to him. Happily he turned to his soundly sleeping sister and said, "It's OK Livi. They found it!" As he laid his head on his pillow, I put my arms around him to ensure he was comfy and asleep before heading downstairs again. Tina was assisting in all this my laughing silently in the corner. As he again closed his eyes, I thought it was over. I was wrong.

Within seconds of assuming a prime sleeping posture Wyatt's hand began to unexplainably wander skyward until he looked like a kid in school wanting his teacher's attention. Then the hand began running circles around his wrist in a "Come here, Mom." kind of motion. As Tina approached to assume cuddling duties Wyatt looked straight at me and said, "You know what I want? Go get yours and put it by the door!" To the trained ear of a parent, this made no sense at all. So I moved away to allow Tina to work her fairy-sleep-dust magic on the "sleeping" little boy. And within a couple of hours, it was over.

Or so I thought.