Having survived some serious sleep deprivation during the past year, and particularly the twins first few months, I am much more appreciative of a good nights sleep than I was pre-kids, although I probably only average about six hours a night. Only six hours is partly because I function pretty well on that amount, and partly because I don't have my wife's gift of going from carrying on a coherent conversation to sound asleep in the space of 60 seconds, but instead have a tough time getting back to sleep after waking up, especially if it is after 5 a.m.
That is why, last Saturday morning at 5:15 a.m., I was groggily displeased to hear the phone ringing. A phone call at 5:15 a.m. is never a good thing. It is either a wrong number or some sort of family emergency. I stumbled out of bed with some trepidation and answered the phone.
"Bon jour!!" said the cheery voice of my mother-in-law. Although she did not as a matter of course speak French, I foggily recalled that she was in France. Well, Disneyland Paris, to be exact, which may or may not actually qualify as France, depending on who you talk to.
"Hi" I mumbled.
"Are the kids asleep?" she perkily continued.
Instead of answering "Its 5:15 in the morning, what the hell do you think?" I quietly gave some sort of affirmative response, retreating into the bathroom in an effort not to wake the rest of the sleeping family.
"Are you okay, your voice is sort of faint?" she then asked. Having by this point then grown clear-headed enough to grasp that there did not appear to be any imminent emergency, I asked her if she knew what time it was. "No" she responded, sounding surprised.
Over the next 30 seconds I was able to gather that my morning's sleep had fallen victim to some bad international time/math skills on the part of my father-in-law, who I then heard my mother-in-law berating. 30 seconds after that I was tucked back into the bed, where I lay awake for another 45 minutes in the blissful early morning quiet before the first faint wail of an awakening one year old sounded from the room across the hall. C'est la vie.
That is why, last Saturday morning at 5:15 a.m., I was groggily displeased to hear the phone ringing. A phone call at 5:15 a.m. is never a good thing. It is either a wrong number or some sort of family emergency. I stumbled out of bed with some trepidation and answered the phone.
"Bon jour!!" said the cheery voice of my mother-in-law. Although she did not as a matter of course speak French, I foggily recalled that she was in France. Well, Disneyland Paris, to be exact, which may or may not actually qualify as France, depending on who you talk to.
"Hi" I mumbled.
"Are the kids asleep?" she perkily continued.
Instead of answering "Its 5:15 in the morning, what the hell do you think?" I quietly gave some sort of affirmative response, retreating into the bathroom in an effort not to wake the rest of the sleeping family.
"Are you okay, your voice is sort of faint?" she then asked. Having by this point then grown clear-headed enough to grasp that there did not appear to be any imminent emergency, I asked her if she knew what time it was. "No" she responded, sounding surprised.
Over the next 30 seconds I was able to gather that my morning's sleep had fallen victim to some bad international time/math skills on the part of my father-in-law, who I then heard my mother-in-law berating. 30 seconds after that I was tucked back into the bed, where I lay awake for another 45 minutes in the blissful early morning quiet before the first faint wail of an awakening one year old sounded from the room across the hall. C'est la vie.
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