Z: What time did you come to bed last night?
She: 3 a.m.
Z: Because you were doing what?
She: I had to finish the holiday cards. It wouldn’t be fair if they didn’t all have at least three stickers on them. I don’t want anyone to think they’re getting ripped off.
Z: That’s dedication.
She: That’s not what Koss said. I told him how late I was up, and he said, “That’s not very good judgment, mommy.”
Z: Mostly I’m surprised that crafts supersede sleep. I thought in the Hierarchy of Leslie, sleep trumped everything else. Kind of like how sugar is at the top of your food pyramid.
She: You’ve never understood the delicate balancing act required for the proper sweet-salt equilibrium. If you only have sweets, your tongue starts to hurt after a while. You need some savories to balance it out. It’s the same with sleep.
Z: I love your science. Do tell.
She: If you got a perfect eight hours of sleep every single night, then you wouldn’t treasure that 10 hours you sometimes get on a Saturday night nearly so much. I don’t think you care about sleep the same way I do.
Z: What do you mean? I love sleep, too. Remember how sad I was for five years when Koss didn’t always sleep through the night? It’s that eight uninterrupted hours that I love.
She: Yeah, but you’re fine in the morning. You don’t even drink coffee.
Z: That’s because I’m a crack addict. Oh, and good news there — new sentencing guidelines treat crack the same as cocaine. Suh-weet!
She: Whereas I yearn for just a few more minutes when my @#$%&* alarm goes off. My problem is I love late nights when everyone else is asleep and I have the house to myself.
Z: As opposed to having the house to yourself all day, when I’m at work and Koss is at school?
She: That’s different. That’s when I’m supposed to be working. Late at night I can do whatever I want and not feel guilty.
Z: I always assumed you dropped Koss off at school and then went home to sleep some more. It’s what I used to do.
She: Excuse me?
Z: Besides, every time you pull a late-nighter like this you hate yourself in the morning.
She: I’m not exactly loving myself in the morning no matter what time I go to bed. I’m not a morning person, or even a midmorning person, or really that much of a life-can-be-worth-living-without-caffeine person. Thank God for naps!
Z: I’ve never been a big napper. Napping makes me tired and messes up my hair. My face never feels quite right after I nap.
She: There’s actually science that says that naps are good for you.
Z: You did a study?
She: No, seriously, I read a book about it. The Art of Napping at Work. It says that napping “makes you feel better, makes you more productive, is inexpensive, it’s self-prescribed, it’s not invasive, it’s not fattening and it has no dangerous side effects.” The book also says your hair will be fine; you just need to brush it. And maybe use a little product.
Z: Personally, I think it’s genetic. Your father is a napping god, who can even nap while babysitting or driving. You studied at the reclined feet of the master.
She: True. But even he’s got a complicated napping system. There are the planned naps, where he sets an alarm and doesn’t answer the door if we stop by, and then there are the “accidental” naps, like when he takes my mom to a movie he doesn’t particularly like.
Z: My favorite is his poker nap, so that he’s fresh for the big game. He’s like a boxer with his pre-fight ritual, only his involves a sleep apnea machine.
She: There’s even a National Napping Day, the day after Daylight Saving Time starts. I celebrate it. Remember, last year I wrote a story about it. I think it was in October, or maybe November … maybe it wasn’t last year, maybe it was …
Z: Leslie?
She: Zzzzz.
Z: Yes, dear.
When they’re not asleep, you can email She and Z at leslie@lesliedinaberg.com.