My brother, who at one time in his life was much, much shorter than I am and took naps, has grown up into a lovely, tri-lingual engineering braniac who composes music on the side.
He’s here visiting now, wisely choosing a Mediterranean winter break over one in the heart of the Loire valley (where it’s cold and icy and unsafe to bike and run and do all those things that the young, beautiful people do).
My children, naturally, worship him and spend a lot of time vying for his attention.
It’s been great to see him–and as a guest he is extremely low maintenance. He’ll eat anything vegetarian you serve him, readily babysits, comes along on errands and hikes and school pickups, and–get this–sleeps through the obnoxious racket that my children make every morning between 6:30 and 7:30.
I do, however, have a suspicion that he might be a vampire. I am sure that doesn’t come from our parent in common. (A long-lost cousin, perhaps.) His preferred bedtime is 2 in the morning. Mine is…not. It never has been.
I feel kind of weird about excusing myself hours in advance of his retiring (although we’re just sitting at our respective computers, pretty much), but next week I might have to do it because this week almost killed me, with the staying up until 12 or 1 and then rolling out of bed at 6 whatever. Because I, sadly, could probably not sleep until 10 in the morning if you slipped me an Ambien. Or 12.
If you need me, I will be here, sitting in my pajamas because I am too sleep deprived to dress and on the verge of a headache because I do not have the oomph to get up and find my glasses. Is it nap time yet? Do vampires take naps?
Oh wait, I’m NOT one. I have no rules.