Child wakes in night; mother drinks Scotch from bottle

We tried. Two nights in a row, in her own bed, which was pretty good. But last night the dreaded footsteps signaled her return. Then I really self-sabotaged.

I took her to see Tim Burton's Coraline. Word was that the Neil Gaiman's dark novel had been lightened for younger audiences, but sitting watching it, I couldn't help thinking that if that was really the case a) the book would scare the crap out of me and b) what the hell was I thinking? Well, actually, I wasn't. I hadn't slept, you see. I kept nodding off during the movie and shivered under my coat because the air-conditioning was full on, in spite of the 20 degree weather outside. I heard the girls laugh, seated in the row behind me but then, as the last credits rolled, my eight-year old daughter leaned over and whispered into my ear, "that was creepy." Her four friends, nodded, and Helena, a three-year old pistol, going on eighteen, was already sitting on her mother's knee, face buried. Even Olivia, who has no fear of enormous, vomit-inducing roller coasters and will watch the most suspenseful Harry Potter movies (that was the yardstick when they were seven) looked a little pale and her freckles actually stood out in the darkened theater. I looked at them all, decked out in their nightwear and bath robes (it had been Pajama Day at school), wearing their 3-D glasses that resembled Ray Bans. Did I mention those? It's a wonderful new feature that Hollywood has figured out as a means of extracting an additional $2 per ticket.

After we left and headed up Broadway, the girls marveled at the 3-D spectacle around them as they walked abreast, arms linked. I trailed them, wondering if the movie had renewed the ebbing nightmares afresh, and wondered if that sexy romp of a romantic comedy might not have been a better option? Making out and a little nudity were surely more favorable than the ghosts of dead children and Burton's signature, morbidly Gothic ambiance. Too late to be worrying about that. The deed was done.

When the movie ended, most schools were still in session but my daughter's is unique in that the first Friday of every month is a half-day, which ends at noon. Barely any point to going in. I often feel resentful of this lost time to work, especially if I am on babysitting duty, but then my resistance dissipates as I shepherd these young, chattering, women-to-be along the crowded street, which is rather like herding cats. They talk endlessly about fabulously insignificant subjects that are their life -- sleepovers, play dates, bad jokes, and the boys in their class. Passers-by smile, and the sidewalk opens up like the Red Sea as they approach. Sure, I thought today, I could be at home plugging away at an assignment, or trying to catch up on those lost hours in the night, but I also knew that, deep down I wouldn't miss these fleeting moments for the whole world.