True love

Several weeks ago, The Lad had a random evening when he simply didn't want to sleep. I don't know what his problem was. I do know that cry-it-out doesn't work with this kid. He just gets angrier and works himself into a lather. On the other hand, you can't go in and coddle him to sleep either. He won't have it. What seems to work is a weird mix of letting him work himself into a tizzy then going in and firmly letting him know what's up (ie SLEEP, damn it!), followed by bracing yourself for another half hour of sporadic wails.

Which is to say: Nothing works. Eventually he just stops.

So, this evening, he cried for more than three hours, and in that time, let's just say words were exchanged between the husband and me. I'll spare you the dirty details, but here's how it ended.

Me: Look, I'm sorry for calling you worthless. You're not. But I'm not going to apologize for calling you an asshole because, seriously, you were being one.

(Husband accepts the world's worst apology and makes one of his own, which I am unable to remember because a) apparently my mother is right and I am self-centered and b) it was the middle of the night.)

Me: The thing is I am not a good person at night. I will never be a good person at night. I will always be awful between the hours of whenever I go to sleep and 6 a.m. That is just the way it is.

Husband (as he cuddles up to me): I know.

And that, dear readers, is why I married him.

Happy fifth anniversary, darlin-o!