Plane travel leaves me slack-jawed with wonder. Think about it: you’re sitting in a chair that reclines, being served meals on trays as you soar through the heavens, landing in a very short amount of time in a completely different part of the world.
If miracles come at a cost, jet lag is that price. And I have discovered since becoming a mother that worse than having jet lag is when your kids do.
Last night, the third night since the flight, was Shabbos. It was also the third night in a row that no one had slept. The glue holding my mind together was starting to dry up and flake apart. We were desperate for sleep.
“No one is to nap today.” It was four o’clock in the morning when I made the announcement, and the kids were eating sandwiches because they thought it was lunchtime, while my husband and I were on our fifth coffees. “Not even a little nap. And then we’ll sleep at night and all will be well.”
If a fanatic is someone who won’t change his mind and won’t change the subject, then I took to this plan with unparalleled fanaticism. “No napping!” I barked at child number one when she reclined into the couch a little too far for my liking.
“I’m just reading,” she whined, but I took the AIM! (yes, a shameless plug) from her hand. “No reading! No activities that will lead to napping! Sugar! We need sugar; who wants an igloo!?”
“I don’t want,” she muttered.”
“Too bad. Mandatory igloos!” I handed out the frozen treats. I felt satisfied with myself for five whole minutes, whereupon it was discovered that child number two had vanished. We finally located her curled up on the floor of the bathroom. I marched her into the living room.
“Who wants to do jumping jacks?” I said this like it was the best idea ever. “C’mon!” I hollered as I started doing them myself. “Really gets your blood pumping! No! Chili! No! Get out of bed!”
“It’s not a bed,” he explained. “It’s a boat. I’m playing a game that I’m in a boat.”
“Your eyes are closed,” I pointed out, and he seemed genuinely surprised to hear this.
This wasn’t working. We needed to get away from all comfy surfaces.
“Let’s go for a walk!” I said, and we wandered moodily around the neighborhood. We went to the park. We started at the swings. The two Arab men who had braved the midday heat looked a little bit nervous, like maybe we were the first wave of a zombie apocalypse.
“Can we go home now?” Child number two tugged at my sleeve.
“No! We must walk around more! I know! Let’s find acorns!”
“There aren’t any acorns in Israel,” said my husband.
“A challenge, then!” I grinned. “Even more fun!”
“And I don’t want to find acorns.” Chili burst into tears. “I want to go home.”
“Home is air-conditioned,” said my traitorous husband, and we went back indoors.
I checked my watch. “Five more hours and we can all go to sleep, and where in the world is Libby?”
Libby had said she needed the bathroom. Libby had instead gone to her bed. “Can you,” I said to my husband, “get her up, please? Because I am feeling stabb-y.”
Everyone followed my husband to Libby’s room and I stood alone and regretted every single one of my life’s choices that had led me up to this moment when it occurred to me how quiet it was.
Thinking back, I’m unsure how they all managed to fit on Libby’s bed. It was a feat of miraculous proportions.
My husband opened one eye when I entered the room. “New plans,” he slurred. “New plan is, we sleep.”
“No!” I still didn’t know when to give up. “C’mon! Let’s have a singing contest!”
But no one was awake to hear me, besides the purple elephant that had take up silent residence in my home after the 48th hour of no sleep. I wondered how long it planned on staying. I wondered if, after the men in white coats took me away, I’d finally be able to sleep.
