Tag: sleep

Grammar

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So it turns out that getting your broken father onto a KLM 777-306(ER) at Cape Town International just before midnight on a Tuesday isn’t an absolutely straightforward experience, but can be aided by helpful staff. And so it turned out to be. Thanks to all concerned.

Still, upon returning home, I was quite reasonably expecting things to be more straightforward, but they weren’t, and 30 minutes after leaving the airport, I found myself showering our son because he was so feverish that he was having hallucinations.
A few SMSs later, and having been assured that Dad was on the flight, I settled off to sleep, only to be woken at 2, 3, 4 (thrice?) and 6 (twice) by the sound of copious vomiting from the Boy Wonder’s room.

I’m not quite with it today. The plan was to stay up and watch the footy tonight, but I’ll be lucky to make kick off.

In the meantime, here’s something that amused me this morning:

I’ve no idea if it’s grammatically correct, but I’m all about pseudo-intellectual, seasonal cartoons, especially when I’m so tired I can hardly think, so it’ll do nicely.

P.S. The boy is doing better this morning, thank you.
And Dad’s plane landed safely in Amsterdam, but I haven’t heard from him. Yet.

UPDATE: Apparently he’s on his connecting flight. I know you were all worried. Thanks for the concern.

The World Cup is killing me

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These late nights are killing me. Actually, it’s the early mornings in hellish conjunction with the late nights that are killing me.

2010’s games seemed to be at a much more acceptable hour, almost as if they were designed to be comfortable for our time zone. Weird.

Right now, I’m wondering whether I can afford a couple of extra hours to watch Ghana play the USA.
It sounds like quite an attractive idea at the moment, but that might not be the case at 6am tomorrow.

UPDATE: And why this fuss? Because death by World Cup exhaustion is a thing.

Darling Daughter

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With Mrs 6000 away in Jo’burg, little K-pu decided to literally throw her toys out of the cot at 3:10am this morning. We didn’t get back to sleep.
I’m pretty knackered, as you might imagine, hence this completely inappropriate quota photo of her back in November 2008.

The sort of wholly unjustified behaviour she demonstrated last night is really not typical of her and I wanted to be angry, but one quick cuddle and my annoyance was put firmly on the back burner.

Damn you, Mother Nature.

Alone

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She waltzed out this morning, said she was heading to the airport, to Jo’burg, to see other people.
I wasn’t too upset. She’ll be back tomorrow, mark my words. She always comes back.
And I slipped a slab of Dairy Milk into her laptop bag. So she won’t go hungry.

The cruel reality of the situation is that I have a night with the kids. Alone.

Both of them are sleeping reasonably well at the moment. Just not very concurrently. 
At the moment, Alex tends to not go to sleep too quickly and he’s up early, K-pu goes to sleep quite easily and wakes up late, but is often disturbed during the night. Which is all well and good when there are two of you to spread the load. However, by crude extrapolation and use of maths and stats only a mother could love, I predict that I will sleep between 10pm – 11pm and 4am – 5:30am. Except for the 10pm – 11pm bit, because I’ll be watching UEFA Cup Europa League footy.
Should this alarming prediction prove to be accurate, I can only advise you that it would be foolhardy to cross my path in any way, shape or form tomorrow.

Yesterday evening was spent playing (and winning) a dramatic football match under peachy skies. And, as this photograph completely fails to illustrate, in gale force winds. There’s a grating sound each time I blink and I’m still crying grit. However, on the plus side, I now feel that I am in a position to recommend sand-blasting as an excellent method of exfoliation.
Just as long as you have control of the process and can halt proceedings before it gets down to the bone.

More Football Evening photos.