Supermodels and Mothers

Sleepless in Samoa has made it past the big 135! Yes, thats right folks – I started this blog back in June 2010 because I wanted a place to hang out and vent and be a little nutty – and hopefully meet up with some other people who also stay up way too late and roam the internet in search of existential meaning… That must be YOU! Here we are, 135 blog posts later…To celebrate making it this far, I took a trip down memory lane and chose my three favourite blogpost oldies. If you’re new to Sleepless – then enjoy! If you’re a Sleepless veteran – then skip it and go buy your tickets to Johnny Depp and Pirates of the Caribbean…which is what Im going to do!
Supermodels and Mothers.

It’s tough being a supermodel. Like Naomi Campbell. You have to interrupt your holiday on the Riviera to do mundane things like testify at an international Crimes Tribunal. About THAT weekend a LOOOOONG time ago when you were ‘hanging out’ at a South African Presidential palace and some gangster type leader was one of the guests. And he happened to be so enamoured of your beauty that he sent a couple of guys to your bedroom in the middle of the night with a gift for you. Some diamonds. That he (allegedly) chopped some people’s hands off to get. And now you have to be a witness at his trial. You have to endure TIRESOME questions from the judge. Like, You didn’t find that unusual? Strange men bringing you gifts in the middle of the night? And you have to shrug and roll your eyes at the idiocy of mere mortals ( who totally have no clue what life is like as a supermodel) and explain – No. It happens to me all the time. I meet people. They admire me. They want to give me presents. Yes, even in the middle of the night. I was very tired from doing a show in Paris so it was somewhat irritating, but these things happen all the time. (a casual shrug) It’s very common. Tiresome. But common.
Oh yeah. I know all about that. Yep, I totally feel Naomi’s pain. I get woken up in the middle of the night allllll the time. By people who want to give me stuff. Or who long for my attention.
*A two year old who sneaked a piece of bread when nobody was looking. And now she’s having a gluten reaction and wants to throw up all over you.
*Or else she’s really got a present for you. And it’s way bigger (and smellier) and way more memorable than a couple of diamonds can ever be. And it’s gift wrapped in a soggy diaper. That’s leaking everywhere.
* A really hot man wants you to wake up. Darling, darling… So he can direct you to the child standing at the foot of the bed. She wants to tell you something darling…she wants you. Oh yeah. She wants me alright. Because she’s wet her bed. And ONLY I can help change her sheets. NOBODY else will do. But me.
* An 8 yr old has a cockroach for you. Only it’s running wild in her room somewhere. “Mum, it keeps sitting on my wall and looking at me when I try to sleep!” And so she wants you to come and catch it. Right now. At 2am.
*A 12 yr old has had a nightmare that she wants to share with you. About dead people rotting in graves. With worms and wriggly things. And she’s troubled and wants to sit and discuss with you RIGHT NOW some puzzling questions that her bad dream has inspired. Like where do we really go when we die? And how do we really know that God is real and there’s a heaven somewhere? And if we go to heaven, how old will we all be when we get there? Do babies stay babies? And old ladies stay old and still need wheelchairs?
Yep. Me and Naomi get woken up in the middle of the night ALL the time. Its tough. Supermodels and mothers…who would have thought we had anything in common?!

Or do we? After I’ve cleaned up the vomit, changed the diaper, put new sheets on the bed, caught the crazy cockroach, psychoanalyzed a dream and engaged in a theological discussion – then I get to soothe a little child to sleep while she snuggles into my arms and mumbles, “I love you more than all the rubbish in the world mama.” And then I walk down a quiet hallway, peering into bedrooms where children are at their most beloved best…asleep. And I stand (rather exhausted to be sure) and gaze at them, oh-so-slightly in awe of how perfectly beautiful and intricate they are. And how perfectly glorious it is that I had a very teensie weensie bit to do with their creation. And moonlight tumbles in through their window, like handfuls of silver and crystal scattered over black velvet. Happiness. Shimmering. Just like diamonds.

Only better.
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