Tired in Thompson

If sleeping were an Olympic event, Neomom and I would have taken the bronze last night. Well, truthfully, Neomom took the bronze and I was disqualified.

Gold medal goes to Sonwun who, at 10:30 p.m., put together a spectacular performance in the mattress moistening competition. He finished with a flourish, by crying and screaming due, in part, to the fact that he wasn't really awake. We found him pointing and kicking at a pillow while howling. Neomom mistook this for a bad dream involving said pillow and removed the offending item from the bed. She then sat down in a puddle and realized that the pillow was really not the issue.

And so, while Sonwun curled up in a new, dry blanket on the extra bed, basking in his gold-medal glow, Neomom and I changed his bed, tucked his now-sleeping body back into his own bed and headed back to the competition.

At 3 a.m., Sontoo made his run for the podium. He opened with a little crying. Kind of a weak start really, considering he does this fairly regularly and it only lasts about five minutes. Neomom and I laughed off the lackluster effort and soldiered on under our own blankets.

But Sontoo is a trooper and he knew the silver medal was on the line. He dug down deep and kept that crying going for a good 20 minutes, knowing our gold-medal dream had already taken a hit from Sonwun.

After 25 minutes, we knew we were beaten. In keeping withe Sleep Olympics rules, I changed the ceremonial diaper and prepared the traditional concession bottle. Sontoo took silver. I, however, took consolation in the fact that I got to snuggle with the little silver medalist while he enjoyed the victory bottle and, shortly thereafter, fell back to sleep.

At this point, I also conceded the bronze medal to Neomom. She had to get up in about three hours and get ready for work. I advised her to put in the earplugs (perfectly legal in the Sleep Olympics) and catch what she could in the remaining hours.

As for me, I figured my best bet for a strong finish was the couch. So that's where I went. And, about half an hour into my near slumber, my arm cramped up, causing considerable pain and wakefulness. It was my fault. Every athlete knows you should stretch before competition. I did not and I paid the price.

But I wasn't giving up. I stretched out the arm, curled up and gave it my all for a big finish.

And it was about half an hour later that the cat decided to engage in mortal combat with a neighbourhood cat, through the basement window. While neither warrior could actually touch the other, due to three panes of glass and a screen between them, it didn't stop them from high-volume trash-talking and determined, yet fruitless, punches at one another.

The problem for my stupid cat was that he was on a thin ledge inside the window while his adversary was on solid footing in the window well outside. Thus, with each violent attack launched, my cat would fall from the window sill and scramble like a cat possessed back to his perch. In the oft-repeated process, he took out a lamp, knocked the blinds to the floor and shoved the futon mattress halfway off the frame.

Well, after chasing off the massive Tomcat that, in truth, would have beaten my indoor cat like a rented mule, I replaced the futon mattress and caught about 45 minutes of sleep before Sonwun awoke, came downstairs, turned on the large, bright, overhead light and asked "Daddy, are you awake?"

So yeah, I didn't make the podium and I don't think I even got ranked, as I did not finish the event. My Olympic dream is dead.

And it's a good thing I'm not a sore loser, or right now rather than laundering the evidence, I would be sending three blankets and a diaper off to the lab to test for performance-enhancing drugs.

Well, happy Tuesday! Gonna be a long one.