Siesta fiesta…

I came up with the idea for this post at three in the morning.

Why? You ask me…

It’s because I had a bloody siesta yesterday.

Siestas are much like the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang…they lure you in with the promise of two shiny hours sleep and then bam, you’re lying awake all night trapped in a cycle of self hatred…not worth it, no not worth it at all.

The children need a nap – that’s a given – otherwise they’re grouchy and tired all afternoon, but I just can’t justify myself (or every other fully grown Spanish adult for that matter) losing three perfectly good hours from the day. I mean how do they ever get anything done?

Maybe I’m just bitter because I can’t power nap and still get a full eight hours sleep at night…

The thing is, I never sleep in the day, unless I’m very sick, or by some other extenuating circumstances, absolutely exhausted. If you catch me nodding off at two in the afternoon, call a doctor, I may be dying…

I am also about as useful (and scary for that matter) as a dead zombie corpse when I haven’t slept…I wake up like a pissed off deep sea monster, rising out of the ocean…maybe I am the Loch Ness monster…I’ve sure been feeling like it lately…

I honestly need about 10 hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep in a pitch black room to wake up chirpy, and as you can imagine there ain’t much of that going around in this job…

This morning for example I was woken up, as usual, at six am with the girl screaming “no, no, suelta me, suelta me” (read: let me go, let me go) as the baby tugged gleefully on her hair and laughed.

She’d climbed into his cot *deadpan*. What did she expect.

They both then took it in turns to shout “mama” and “papa”, attack each other and throw various objects at me, including a dummy and a toy dinosaur. On three hours sleep I was not best pleased…

After a failed attempt at shushing them, and then trying to ignore them, and then hiding under the covers and pretending I wasn’t there (kids these days…they’re too smart…), I rose up from the dead and murderously stomped off, baby in tow to heat the milk for his bottle. By the time the second batch of toast had pinged up, I was halfway to consciousness – this is very important considering the fact I am technically living with my bosses. By the time we’d sat down, on the outside I was smiley and buoyant (oh shut up…I tried..) while on the inside contemplating rolling myself off the balcony. All of today I have felt like hell.

These are the times I regret not drinking caffeine.

No I’m not going to have another siesta…I bloody refuse!

P.S. Why does this only happen in Spain? Do they know something the rest of the world doesn’t or are they just a sleepy (lazy) people.

P.PS. If this post turns out to be incoherent, I apologise, I’m so tired I’m almost face-planting into my iPad…

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