Sleepless in suburbia

I am a woman of few talents, I can't cook knit or sew, my house isn't filled with things I've made (excepting offspring and mess) and the only thing I can play is the lottery. Oh please don't feel sorry for me, I am decidedly happy with my humble lot.

I have been utterly blessed in what I feel is my best talent. I am ace at sleeping, if there were sleep Olympics I would be up there with the gold and the "God save the Queen" The only time I have had sleepless nights have been when the children were babies and truth be told I was a teeny tiny bit cranky then. Then I sleep trained them and all was well in the world. I am not too shabby at sleep training either, 100% success rate at teaching babies to sleep through. Nothing makes me happier than getting into my jammies and going to bed. My metier is sleep.

In fact, I am sooo good, no matter what is going on in my life, death, divorce, teenagers or lack of gin - I will take myself off to bed, usually accompanied by a humungous mug of fully caffeinated coffee and pop myself between the White Company's finest and nod off. Sometimes just before I drift off I remember the mug of fully caffeinated and rouse myself enough to gulp it down like a student with a Jaegerbomb and then snuggle down for a full 8 hours. I am not showing off here, I'm just explaining. I never feel too hot or cold, or uncomfortable or restless, strange beds or having someone with me do not gee my ginger. I am grand. Nothing wakes me up either, I could sleep through anything, I expect I have slept through all of the childrens parties and there are several photos of assorted weido friends of the children on my good silk throw accessorised with beer bottles and pointy foam fingers. I set my children curfews but I have no clue if they keep to them as I am always asleep.

Which is just as well as I am crap without sleep, really really useless, so God in his infinite wisdom has given me the gift of sleeping, so I don't hurt people on a daily basis.

Except something has gone wrong, my forte has fecked off.

I am not a happy auntie, on Friday I just couldn't get comfortable, I wriggled and jiggled, I changed my jammies before removing them completely (sorry for the TMI - I'm just trying to give you the full picture, well not the full picture, that's on a pay per click at nakedauntiegwen.com, shut up I've got to pay for a new kitchen somehow)
Where was I? oh yeah Friday, I fidgeted and agitated and then I eventually fell asleep. Only to be woken by The Beautiful Son coming in at 2am dressed in a ladies Primark black and white zebra striped onesie. yes I agree, it is slightly peculiar but I didn't want to waste brain power trying to figure it out as I was tired.

Readers, the rest of the night didn't go well and I was working on Saturday so suffice to say I wasn't the cheeriest of aunties yesterday, until around 9pm when I realised I could put my jammies on and go back to bed. That was a moment of mere bliss in my day. So armed with the coffee I go to my happy place And I go to sleep.

To be woken up by someone else's sons at 4.30 am, giving me the full benefit of their alcohol fuelled opinions on the world. And that was it for the night, sure I had a doze on and off but that's a bit like being on a diet, you don't want carrot sticks you want cake, thank you very much. When you've had the good stuff you don't want to go back.

So, I am now rantie auntie, I have been robbed of 2 good nights sleep and I get a teeny tiny bit cranky without it. I might have mentioned that. I imagine that's why everyone is giving me a wide berth today.