Superbowl Recovery

We attended our first Superbowl Party as a family last night. It was held at the home a couple from our Community Group. We got the invitation about three weeks ago, and Connor has been talking about it ever since. He was incredibly excited — far more so than I ever would have expected. Football has never been a big fan sport in our household. We're all about basketball — Connor and Chris love to watch an NBA game together, and in March each member of the family enters our March Madness predictions on our own personal set of brackets. Of course, as Canadians, it is our civic duty to be hockey fans, and we do enjoy a good hockey game together now and then. But football — I just don't get it! Chris has to explain it to me every time we watch a game (which is a very rare occurance). Therefore, it amazes me that my son is able to "get it", but he does. Something in the male DNA must allow them to understand incomprehensible sports.

So we went to a Superbowl Party. We took two cars, because I knew Janelle would not survive the whole evening. We had a great time! Lots of food, lots of good conversation. Oh, and there was that game on TV that most of the guys seemed pretty interested in, too. They all seemed pretty happy, because apparently the right team was winning. We stayed for the first half, watched the American commercials on YouTube at halftime, and the last part of the halftime show, and then Janelle and I prepared to head out. I checked with Connor to see if he wanted to come with us, and he looked wiped out. His eyelids were droopy and his cheeks were red, his telltale signs of exhaustion. But he was wearing a big smile, and there was no way he was leaving that game until it was over. So I left him and brought my girl home to tuck her safely into bed, and then head to bed myself. I did watch some of the game, but mostly so I wouldn't miss the beginning of Glee, which was coming on following the game. When Connor arrived home, he was all smiles. Apparently, the right team won, which invariably alters Connor's mood one way or the other. It was 10:45 p.m., and he didn't put up much fuss about going to bed. All was right with the world.

And then it was morning. I discovered last night that Connor had not finished all his homework this weekend, so I woke him at 7:30 to complete a math worksheet before heading to school for 9:00. He was a mess. He was just not emotionally equipped to deal with homework, breakfast, washing up or getting dressed. So I did what any good mother would do — I sent him back to bed. What is the point in sending a physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted child to school? Would he actually learn anthing? Would he be an asset to the class in that state of mind? I don't think so. I took Janelle and our neighbour kids to school and came home to have my breakfast. Connor came downstairs just before 9:00. I suggested he give his homework another try. Tears! Drama! Inability to cope! Back to bed! I told him I would wake him in an hour so I could take him to school in time to pick Janelle up to take her to her dentist appointment. I don't think he ever did sleep, but he certainly spent some significant time curled up in his comfy bed in a dark room. That had to help. When he emerged again just before 10:00 I asked him to try getting cleaned up and dressed before he tackled the homework sheet. This time we were much more successful. I'm never awake in the morning until the water hits my face either!

So my son missed two hours of school, all because he stayed up to watch his first Superbowl. Worth it? I guess that depends on your perspective. Connor certainly thinks it was, despite how wretched he felt this morning. And I would tend to agree with him. I mean, he will remember last night far longer than he would remember anything he may have missed this morning between 9:00 and 11:00 a.m. And don't we all have to experience the crappy "next morning" feeling to understand how valuable a good night's sleep really is?

I may change my mind this afternoon when I experience the late afternoon version of sleep-deprived Connor. But I know we'll all survive. He'll go to bed early, and a babysitter is coming tonight, so I won't be subjected to a long, drawn out bedtime battle. He's always perfect for the sitter! All in all, Superbowl Recovery isn't that traumatic — as long as it only happens once a year!