The Sandman. That little man who comes into your room every night and sprinkles sand on your eyes to make you sleepy and help you drift off into dream land. There have been songs and poems written about him. Mothers pray that he will come sprinkle sand on the little children across the hall who won’t shut up don’t sound anywhere close to tired. And people with insomnia curse him as they toss and turn wondering why the little bastard guy keeps skipping their house.
Whether we love him or curse him, we all know who the Sandman is. And starting today, Theo also knows. I’m not sure who told him his after school program teacher but he was none too pleased with this discovery. Instead of the Sandman being a little fairy like guy who brings you peaceful slumber he was convinced that the Sandman was somehow a tormentor. Now you have to understand where my son is coming from. He can be anal retentive and has recently had his entire life flooded with little girls trying to dress his favorite dinosaur in dresses.
With all this going on he had talked himself into believing the Sandman comes into your room, holds open your eyes and puts the equivalent of table salt in your eyes to make you sleep. There was no amount of reasoning with him on this matter. If he hid under the covers, the Sandman would find him. If he closed his door, the Sandman would find him. If he closed.his eyes really tight, the Sandman would pry them open and force the burning sand in them.
No matter how many times I told him, or how I worded that the sand used by the Sandman is like fairy dust, he was not going to fall asleep. As little tears started to form in his eyes I told him that I would go downstairs and call the Sandman to ask him to ‘please’ use different sand tonight. It seemed to do trick. I kissed him goodnight and headed downstairs to make the phone call.
Fast forward 20 minutes=>=>=>I’m in bed ‘wrestling’ with BF. I’m obviously winning because I have him pinned under me when we hear little footsteps start down the hall. Seeing as how I had BF in a *em* compromising position, the best I could do was lay down on top of him with the covers up over my shoulders.
“Mommy, you were right. After you called the Sandman he used different sand and it doesn’t hurt!” With that he said goodnight and went back to his room. So glad we remedied that situation while I was wrestling
Don’t worry fellow parents, when I called the Sandman I asked that he use different sand for your kids as well. You’re welcome.