Our linen closet is the top shelf in the boys’ bedroom closet. And it is there where I store many extras—bars of soap, tissue boxes, razor blades, little bottles of shampoo from hotels and extra contact lens cases. (Actually, now that I think about it, there’s not a single linen on that shelf. But it’s all stuff I would store in a linen closet if I had one.) Monday, I threw away my current contact lens case because of a missing cap. All week long I have intended to grab a new contact lens case from our “linen closet.” And all week long, I’ve forgotten—until after the boys have gone to bed.
Earlier this week I tried to convince Andy to sneak into the boys’ room for me, but he refused. Actually, at first he refused. Then he said I’d have to deal with the boys if they woke up. And then I refused. And there is no way I’m going to successfully attempt to sneak into their room, open the closet door, climb up on a stool, dig around in a basket and extract an extra lens case. Especially when I’m the one who still hasn’t learned where the creaks are in our stairs, something Andy points out to me every time we walk down them together, after finally getting the children to sleep.
And, so, this is why I have soaked my contact lenses in shot glasses every night this week.
Pre-children, I would have thought this story crazy. Post-children, I now understand why, years ago, my mom said she once crawled out of my nursery, after I had finally fallen asleep.
I imagine I’m not alone when I say this: I will do most anything to keep my sleeping children asleep. (As I’m typing this I hear ocean waves. In Fort Thomas. In October.)
“Parenthood remains the greatest single preserve of the amateur.” —Alvin Toffler