Counting Sheep

So I was minding my own business, focusing on the algebra tutorial I’ve been working on to ensure I finally pass the class next semester, when Makayla walked into the living room and told me she couldn’t sleep.

“You’ve been in bed for over an hour,” I told her as I took her hand, “tomorrow is your very last day of kindergarten.  You will never get another last day of kindergarten ever again.  You need your rest so that you will have a good time.”

“I don’t care about kindergarten,” she told me, “kindergarten is so easy and it makes me bored.  We have to read baby books and do math stuff that even a baby in your belly could do.”

“Even more the reason for you to be excited that tomorrow is your last day,” I told her.

“The only way to make me go to sleep is to read to me some more.  That is the only way I will get sleepy.”

“Enough,” I told her, anxious to get back to my studying.  Then I felt guilty and tried to think of something to say that would make me feel like a good mother again.

“Listen,” I told her as she lied down and I covered her with her blankets, “sometimes I can’t sleep too.  And I just count sheep.  Only you don’t just count them.  Counting sheep is a process.”

“Like meat,” Makayla said, “because you buy processed meat.”

I was thrilled with her genius mind but said, “The process I’m talking about means the steps you take to do something.  Like, it is a process to get you out of bed in the morning because I have to turn on the light, rub your back, remind you that you have to go to school, try to pick you up, and resort to threats.  That is a process.”

“So is a process like cleaning my room?  Because first I have to clean my toys and then I have to pick up my shoes and then I have to vacuum it?”

“Exactly,” I said, “that is what a process is.  And counting sheep is a process.”

“Wait,” Makayla said, sitting up and thrusting her little palm into my face like a stop sign, “am I counting sheep for real or just in my imagination?”

“When you count sheep, you get super comfortable in bed and close your eyes,” I told her, totally making things up as I went along, “and all of your sheep are scattered all over a meadow and you have to imagine yourself putting them all in a very straight line.”

“Like that Peep girl who lost her sheep!” Makayla shrieked as she sat up, “like that, right Mommy?”

“Lie down,” I told her, “and yes, like that.  You can even wear a bonnet and hold a cane and wear a giant pink dress if you want.  But what you do is get all your sheep in a single line.  And you have to really think about it.  Make sure they’re even in the line and make sure that the lambs don’t run away.  And then you put a fence in front of them and stand back and count them as they jump over the fence to get to the other side of the meadow.  And really imagine each and every sheep jumping as you count.  Imagine how their wool looks and how the line of sheep is getting shorter as each sheep jumps.”

“What if I run out of sheep?” Makayla asked.

“You won’t.  You have millions.  You’ll fall asleep before you run out of sheep.”

“But what about the sheep that don’t make it over the fence?” she asked, “A wolf will probably eat them because I’ll be sleeping.  I’m going to need a scarecrow.”

“Well, this is just imaginary so when you fall asleep, your pretend sheep won’t get hurt.  But you can put a scarecrow in there to scare the wolves off if you want.  Except I think that scarecrows are for birds, not wolves.  This is your own day dream so you can make it any way you want.  And you can say that wolves are not allowed.”

“I don’t know how to count past one hundred,” she said.

“If you do it like I told you, you won’t even make it to one hundred.  You’ll get so sleepy you’ll forget you’re even counting and you’ll go right to sleep.”

“Do you do that Mommy?” she asked.

“All the time,” I lied.  In reality, when I can’t fall asleep, I take a shot of Nyquil and read a textbook on a subject I find boring until I pass out.  Whatever.

I smooched her on the forehead and nose and she puckered up her lips and stretched her head off the pillow to kiss me.

“You are such a smart mommy,” she said, “when I used to spend the night with Charlie (friend she had when she was with mom) if I couldn’t sleep, Charlie’s mommy told me to be quiet and not get out of bed again.  She never even told me about having sheep.  What a good idea!”

I smooched her again and tromped into the living room.  Ten minutes later, Makayla walked in.

“It didn’t work?” I asked her.

“It’s working because I’m getting sleepy but I ran out of names for all of them,” she said, “and is it OK if some of them are pink or something?”

“Don’t focus on their colors; that will just keep you awake.  And their names are the number that you’re counting.  The first sheep’s name is One, the second sheep’s name is Two.  If you think about it too hard, you won’t go to sleep.”

“Thanks mom,” she said, as she knocked over a folded pile of laundry to come kiss me.

“Your laundry is in my way,” she said as she walked back to her room.  I went in a little while ago to check on her and found her fast asleep with colors, markers, and paper all around her.  I examined her drawings and saw pictures of colorful sheep and a little girl sleeping.  In some of the pictures, there was a tiny Makayla holding the hand of a giant who represented me.  I know it was Makayla because she always portrays herself with blue eyes and brown pig tails in her drawings.  I know it was my hand she was holding because she always portrays me as a stick with giant boobs and a huge nose.

“You have a really big and pointy nose, Mommy,” Makayla told me when I asked her about drawings, “and your boobs are huge.  So I made you.”

I really, really like my kid.