MoMa is Far Too Accommodating of My Eccentricities

Norah has not been sleeping well lately. She’s reached a milestone in her understanding of the world that makes her wail in the night. And while I’m happy that her little brain is developing on a daily basis, sometimes I wish this whole “object permanence” thing would be forgotten. Suddenly, she knows Mommy and Daddy still exist even when she can’t see us. So now, instead of rolling over and going back to sleep like my pre-permanence daughter would have, she instead shrieks and cries until one of her parents must make the trek down from our attic bedroom to soothe her. To those readers who have never hovered over a crib at 3:42 AM praying silently to any god that will listen to brings restful sleep to your child so you can slink back to your own warm blankets…let me say it’s difficult in those moments to remind yourself how cute your daughter really is and how lucky you are in the scheme of things to have this opportunity. Those thoughts, you see, are daylight thoughts. Night time thoughts are less eloquent and far more succinct, “Go to sleep, go to sleep, for God’s sake go to sleep.”

Now, in a moment of what I shall here describe as brilliance, I discovered that while I am unable to leave her until she is fully back to sleep…I am able to slowly increase my distance. This relives strain on my back and also allows me to eventually lie on the floor and in theory even get a bit of sleep while I wait her out with no more effort than an occasional “ssshhhhh” to soothe her if she forgets I’m down there. A perfect solution, you say. Should be…but it isn’t. Due to eccentricities alluded to in the title, I am unable to make proper use of my brilliance.

Problem # 1: The Mirror

One of the great benefits of moving Norah’s room into the larger guest room a few weeks ago was the use of the large dresser in there. With her growing collection of clothing, this thing has really come in handy. However, attached to this dresser is a six-foot by 3-foot and I don’t like mirrors. Aside from the mirror on this furniture piece, one small mirror in the china hutch in the dining room, and one mirror for each of our two bathrooms, reflective surfaces are kept to a minimum in Casa de Gren.

I’m pretty sure it stems back to an episode of the Twilight Zone or Tales from the Dark Side or some other such show I watched when I was young. This guy in his apartment keeps catching sight of a shadowy figure moving toward him in reflections. When he looks…nothing. It goes on and on until he sees the shadow approaching in the reflection from his bathtub faucet. He ignores it and the next shot is of him dead in his tub. I have no doubt that if I saw it again I would laugh at the cheesiness. But, the timing of my viewing struck such that I have ever since been wigged out by mirrors. I have to keep checking them; I have to keep an eye on them…especially when the lighting is dim.

So, I’m down in Norah’s room, lying on the floor of a room with a huge mirror. I’d love to just get a few minutes of sleep…but I have to keep checking the damned mirror.

Problem #2: Creepy Little Goblins

This is yet another reason I’m looking forward to finishing the story I’ve been working on for the past month or seven. I’m spending all together too much time thinking about little goblin creatures. I think about them while I drive, I contemplate them as I fall asleep, so I can’t get them out of my head as I lay there, eyes closed, in front of a huge mirror. And the sad fact is that it’s not really that scary of a story, I don’t think…it’s just the sheer amount of time I’ve spent thinking about particular aspects of it that has made the whole thing very real in my mind. I know it’s all in my imagination…and yet I can’t stop thinking about it…in the night…in the dark.

To further understand this issue, I need to tell you a thing or two about my over active imagination. I get what I call phantasms from time to time. I wake up and…well…see thing. And by God they’re there as real as my nightstand. I can look at them, stare at them, watch them move about the room. But when I turn on the light…they’re gone.

For example, on the second or third night that I roomed with FreddyJ in college, I saw a huge spider…maybe a foot across, darting across the ceiling. It dropped into my bed at my feet and starting scurrying toward my face. I did what any of you would do in such a situation…I screamed and flung the blankets over my attacker, thus making poor FreddyJ seriously consider asking for a roommate transfer.

Another time I awoke to find that the wall next to my bed had somehow been perforated with thousands of tiny holes and each one had a little worm-like creature wiggling its way out.

A few months ago, even before I became obsessed with goblins, I awoke and saw a little trollish man hiding behind my window blinds. He kept peaking at me to see if I was still watching him. Moonshot woke and asked me what I was doing. I responded by asking, “Can you see that little man on the window?” She assured me that she could not, so I knew immediately I was having one of my strange night time visions, but he was still there as far as I could see and didn’t leave until I turned on the light.

I bring this up only to showcase the power my imagination wields over me when the lights go off. I knew that crazy troll was not really there…but I’ll be damned if I was going to close my eyes until I’d proven it.

Anyway…back to the middle of the night Norah watch. I’m laying there with a mirror looming over me and my overactive imagination assuring me that I should be concerned about small creatures that scamper about in the shadows. I’ve thought ahead enough to bring a pillow with me…but it doesn’t matter…I’m not sleeping.

So I told MoMa about this. She knows about my mirror thing, I’ve been keeping her up to date on my story progress, and she’s always interested in Norah news. So, this seemed like a delightfully funny story to tell her. I figured we’d both have a little chuckle at how silly I am and then we’d segue right into helpful grandmotherly advice on getting a child to sleep through the night. However, I had underestimated a mother’s ability to rationalize her son’s lunacy.

“Maybe you should get rid of that dresser.”