Of late it seems that my life is about analogies like Christmas and sushi and now cross the pond flights and shut eye. My night life or sleep time can easily be compared to a flight to Europe from Los Angeles. The situation is the same in that the shut eye periods have the same cycles and the distractions are equally similar too. Like a flight to Europe, I tend to have fits or bouts or moments of sleep, then I am awakened. On the plane it's the flight attendant who plays my newborn baby. The people passing down the aisle could play my sick 4-year-old son, and the random noises such as intercom announcements or the noise of the clanging food and beverage cart could play the part of my annoying and oft loud refrigerator.
And so it goes, I am in the terminal bound for Italy or Germany or Switzerland. The bed time analogy is that of me getting in my PJ's, taking control of the remote and watching something, anything, perhaps House Hunters on HGTV. I am anxious, wondering if the security zone will be packed. Similarly I am curious whether Hope will sleep for 2 hours or 3 and will she be grunting in between. Soon I make it through security and through an hour of sleep by Hope. It seems that this flight/sleep will be smoothe... this time. Maybe. Soon I am on the plane and we are set for lift off. Likewise in bed I am on to the History Channel for the Battle of Stalingrad... My wife's favorite epic battle (not). Then it hits. The annoying German guy next to me begins grunting as does my refrigerator. Why must he snort so loud? Is it just a German thing? I am convinced it is! It has happened way too many times. Do they not believe in Kleenex? Didn't they invent tissue paper? They seem to lay claim to everything else. Onward. The fridge groans and shrieks. It's made in New Zealand and is supposed to be good. It is in fact, but look up Fisher Paykel refrigerators on the web and what's the biggest complaint? They're loud. So German guy and Kiwi fridge groan and snort off and on.
Next comes the beverage cart and in wanders my 4-year-old son who is coughing and snorting. Not like the German guy but more like a cute little 4-year-old. "It's 2 am lil' bro," I say. "I can't sleep," he says. "Vould you like somesing to zrink," Elsa says. "Arghh, groan, umphh" says me. Now the baby wakes up because she's either gassy or hungry or hungry and gassy or annoyed that the Battle of Sicily leveled such a beautiful place. Here comes Elsa again to hand out warm towels... well not really, but she's bugging me, us, everyone about something. You get the point. She's around again, and again, and again. Now it's 4 in the morning and I finish Sicily and the baby is zonked and Luke's back in his bed and Stefanie is in a coma. I pass out too, but in an instant it's 7:00 am and my flight touches down and the sun rises in the window and lil' bro creeps in and asks if he can have his lollipop from the night before. Seriously? I have become Ben Franklin to a certain extent. I have now conditioned myself as I have on the flights to Europe to sleep in weird positions, get very little shut eye and get used to the noises. And it seems to be working! Each night is a mystery, and it's kind of fun. Kinda. Maybe.
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