It's no secret around my house that I can't sleep.
I think it started the night President Obama kept us all up with the announcement about Osama bin Laden.
Really, as a responsible parent himself, I think he might have considered waiting until maybe 10am on Monday -- a SCHOOL DAY -- fter everyone got their kids to school, got themselves a decent cup of coffee and shook the weekend out of their brains.
But no, since the President decided to keep me up that Sunday night, I pretty much have been waking up in the middle of the night on my own, wondering if maybe the world is passing me by a little.
I write a little, watch tv more than a little, and on more than one occasion I have eaten Pop Tarts.
Anyway, Zack begged me to please wake him up the next time I couldn't sleep so that the two of us could talk. I agreed.
Last night, it happened again.
I woke up at 1:20am, put away dishes, folded laundry, watched Nurse Jackie, and ate a bowl of chocolate chip cookies crumbled into Heavenly Hash ice cream.
As 3am was running into 4am, I was still wide awake, but hoping for some rest.
I set my iPhone alarm for as late as I could possibly imagine sleeping and still getting the kids to school, tucked a pillow under my arm and headed to Zack's bunk bed.
He was sleeping on his back with his arms folded behind his head, looking like an angelic version of Huck Finn.
I slide in the bed next to him and pull the Transformers blanket over us.
I whisper soft enough that if he's in a really deep sleep I won't bother him. "Zack, Zack, I'm here! Mommy is here! I'm ready to talk!"
He slides one of his arms around mine and moves his face to nuzzle on my arm.
I think he's probably asleep, but I try one more time. "Zack, I'm here, It's the middle of the night. What do you want to talk about?"
Zack squeezed my arm in a small hug, then let go. As he rolled over he mumbled, "Turns out I don't have anything to say just right now."
