Cereal Sleeper

He's fallen asleep in the cereal bowl.
He's snoring in bubbly milk,
With fruity-o's
Gettin' sucked up in his nose
And the bowl at a funny tilt. 

He's fallen asleep in the cereal bowl.
Been stayin' up late all week.
He got super tired,
but he kept himself wired,
To maintain his computer game streak. 

Now he's fallen asleep in the cereal bowl.
His hair's gettin' wet and soggy.
When I saw him face down
I thought, "hope he don't drown"
So I poked him
And he splashed like a froggy.

-B.C. Byron
Don’t worry, kid’ll wake up after a few cheerios get snorted up the nose.
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I hear I had a bad habit of falling asleep in my food when I was a toddler. My parents have an old picture of me with my chubby little face plunked in a bowl of chocolate pudding, crusty dessert in my hair. It must have been a pretty busy time for me as a toddler because that apparently wasn’t the only time this happened. My Mom and Dad tell me that I was always dropping off into snoozeland in my breakfast or dinner. Little people can really wear themselves out and push themselves too far when they’re having fun, but they also have the advantage of being able to sleep pretty much anywhere. My oldest daughter used to yawn and yawn, all while insisting to me that she wasn’t tired and just needed a snack. I’m not sure how she confused her body signals for sleep with hunger signals, but I have a picture of her slumped on the couch with her eyes closed, hand stuffed deep into a bag of cheesy fish crackers. My second daughter used to fall asleep on the potty or bathroom floor. It was always amazing to me how they would be up bright an early and bouncing off the walls after sleeping in a pretzel shape with no blankets in these odd places, but just because you can bounce back easily doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Please try your best to pay attention to that tired feeling and to fall asleep in an actual bed when you can.

As an adult, I’m better at recognizing when I need sleep. Unfortunately, my ability to take a nap is much more limited as well, and I don’t have the odd superpower that children have of falling asleep in any location or crazy position. It seems the older I get, the more whimpy my body gets about sleeping conditions. I can barely rest in airplanes, even on a fifteen hour flight. My neck just can’t handle the weird positioning of airplane seats. I can’t sleep on long car rides, which is probably okay since I’m usually the one driving. Camping is a nightmare. I pretty much just expect to not sleep at all in a tent or camper. In fact, my middle-aged body has gotten so stinking picky that even sleeping at hotels is difficult. The pillows are too fluffy, or the blanket is too heavy, or the air conditioner is too noisy, or the people arguing in the next hotel room is bothering me. I’ve become finely tuned to my own bed, my own pillow, a certain temperature range of about 3 degrees, the sound of my wife’s breathing, and the exact hum of my house’s appliances. If any one of these variables is out of place, I’m tossing and turning all night.

A Parent’s Favorite Game

The privilege of a parent
To touch what others daren't,
To smell what shouldn't be,
To walk in puddled pee.
To find food in the toilet
And hear "that didn't spoil it".
The ways the children play
That make a parent's day.
But one that tops them all
Is a game we like to call
"The mystery of the goo -
Is it chocolate, mud, or poo?"

With a smudgey on the floor,
We never can be sure.
It's a quiz I often fail
And it isn't for the frail.
Those many shades of brown,
Oh, you better mark 'em down,
'Cause you never wanna' lose,
And you know you'll have to choose -
Is it chocolate, mud, or poo?
They leave it up to you.
Chocolate, mud, or poo...
I know my kiddos love me.
Yes they do.

-B.C. Byron
Is this stain chocolate, mud, or poo? Can I pick it up without a glove?
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This poem idea comes from a social post shared by the Children’s Literature Podcast, the founder of which has been kind enough to feature my poems on the podcast a couple of times. I laughed when I saw this description as a Parent Gameshow and immediately thought of at least a few occasions when I had played it, and lost miserably. You see, as a parent there isn’t always time to do a thorough sniff test or run grab a paper towel to clean up the goo. When multiple disasters happen at the same time, you have to make your best guess and bravely clean the mess with whatever is at hand. Sometimes that means your actual hand. Hands can always be washed, or scrubbed with a scouring pad until some of the skin is removed, at a later time. Clothes can always be burned if needed. Grownups that care for little people are also blessed with iron stomachs and resiliant noses. This resistance to gross may or may not be aided by the thought that we’d only have to clean up our own stomach jelly, on top of the other messes, if we can’t hold it in. That can be a powerful motivator.

This poem also brings to mind an incident from my own childhood when a certain younger sibling had snuck into the food pantry and pilfered a rather large bag of raisins, which was eaten by said thief within in a few short hours. This escapade led to some unfortunate internal issues that resulted in incomplete digestion of most of the raisins. Little stomachs can’t handle that kind of sudden fruit load. At the time, a snack food called Raisinets had just become popular. I had seen the commercials many times and immediately recognized a trail of chocolate covered “Raisinets” on the living room carpet leading up to, and onto, the couch. I asked my mother if I could have some Raisinets too. Thankfully, the true nature of the chocolate droppings trail was discovered before anything went into a mouth, and a grumbling little toddler was rushed to the bathroom to finish the purging.

That’s enough gross business for one night. I need to go check the carpet and couches for spots.