The Passion of the Sam

I don't know what bedtime is like in your house, but in ours it resembles most of Thomas Hobbes' vision of life in the state of nature. We get the nasty, and we get the brutish. We miss out, however, on the short. It usually takes about 45 minutes for Samson to get fully settled and fall asleep. Tonight I decided not just to stay in his room with him but to wait to see him drift off to sleep.

Watching a baby fall asleep is kind of like watching a lunar eclipse. You know something cool is going to happen, but it takes an awful long time (at least in our house) for it to actually happen. He had some books and toys and various lovies (lamb, bunny, etc) and was contentedly winding down. Without getting all Erma Bombeck on you, I can honestly say it was a singular joy to watch young Samson --- all but oblivious to my presence --- play with his toys, flip through pages in his books, and essentially go through his nighttime ritual. He finally lay on his side, babbling softly, his eyes heavy with sleep.

I prepared to make a ninja-like getaway when out on the street came the sound of motorcycles. It sounded like hundreds of Hells Angels on their way to Altamont; it was actually two fat middle-aged guys who were probably on their way to Burger King. Didn't matter; the damage was done, and now not only was Samson awake but he was scared and wide awake. And screaming.

Vicki eventually got him calmed down, and as I heard the bikers returning I ran out into the street and spread my arms in a classic clothesline move.

Ok, not really. But it would have been cool (and justified). And Vicki did eventually get Samson to go to sleep.