Last night Hank finagled his way into our bed. Well, finagled might be overstating a bit. It's possible his sucker of a mom invited him in since the girls were with Grandfather and Diana. And by possible I mean likely, but really, how he got there is irrelevant.
OK, so Hank is sleeping with us. But at 12:30 a.m. he wasn't actually sleeping. He was wide, wide awake sniffing and snorting.
Sniff, sniff. Then a readjusting of position. Covers move. More snot sucking (hey, I know it's a gross visual-- or audio reminder-- whatever-- but it was gross, OK?). More moving. More rolling. More sniffing.
Hank, mumbles a tired Superdad, use a Kleexex for Pete's sake!
Sniff, sniff, snort, snort. Roll over, kick off the covers.
Hank, in a loud whisper, Dad! Can you get me a Kleenex?
A sigh from Superdad. Cate, whispers Superdad (why are we all whispering since we're all awake?!), do you have any Kleenex?
From me a grunt. Joe takes it to mean no and trudges off, tiredly, to the bathroom. He gets back. There's more sniffing, sucking and some occasional blowing. Hank, just blow! whispers Superdad.
Everyone-- and by everyone I mean those actually participating in the midnight Kleenex madness, like Hank and Joe-- lies back down.
Sniff, sniff! Snort, sniff! The pillow is readjusted. Sniff, snort!
Hank, I swear, you're like an eighty-year-old man, grumbles Joe. I start to giggle.
Sniff, sniff, snort, sniff!
Now I'm really laughing. Loudly.
Seriously, Hank, says Joe, look at you. You can't lie still, you can't stop making all these personal noises and you're lying there with navy blue socks on, for Pete's sake!
Now I'm laughing so hard I'm crying. Hank is starting to wonder why.
Sniff, snort, sniff!
Now Joe is laughing. What's so funny? demands Hank. He's annoyed now. SNIFF! SNORT!
I think I fell back to sleep while doubled over in hysterics. My goodness, each day this kid kills me just a little bit more.