Memory Loss

An all time first: S fell asleep on the sofa last night while the rest of us were hanging out. By himself. At 6 something. No, no, no--you don't understand--he fell asleep. By himself. Early. Before he even made it to bed. The child who "just doesn't like to sleep." My night owl.
At first, I was worried. I was thinking cold, swine flu, sudden onset death. But no, as it turns out, four hours of swimming, two hours of running around like a monkey, and a crappy previous night's sleep will actually result in an S so tired that he will put himself to sleep.
Amazing.
I carried him up to his bed, tucked him in and was completely struck by how simply beautiful he looked. His little lips were just slightly apart and his little freckles looked so cheerful on his cheeks. Feeling thus inspired by the wonder of a child, I went into E's room: nope. Still awake. And talking. No magic there.
It wasn't until my bedtime that I could go into E's room and see his simple beauty. He sleeps with limbs flailed out as though he's parachuting in his dreams. His long eyelashes brushed his cheeks, and the gape of his missing tooth could just barely be seen between his perfect lips.
Much like there are chemical processes in the brain that help to conceal the agony of childbirth from our memories, there are processes that allow us to appreciate our children in rare moments of sleep or silence and forget how completely obnoxious they are to be around nearly all the time they're awake.
I know, I know. It's mean to say they're obnoxious. It's only partially true: if I could be with each of my children separately, and alone, I would enjoy it. Each one is funny, clever, curious, bright, and wonderful. Put them together, and it's like a territorial battle to the death a la Discovery Channel. Together, they spend a day locked in endless struggles of "am not, are too" and "not me, he did it." Not to mention the chronic complaint of the child: "it's not fair." Only at night when they are sleeping, or if I sneak into their rooms and spy on them as they read intently, or are absorbed in play can I see that sweetness, that near angelic perfection of childhood. Instantly, I can forget the irritations of the day, and I sincerely wish that I could freeze each of them at this ideal moment in time.
Unfortunately, as parents, we don't get to see those moments often. When my kids are quiet, I usually run in the opposite direction: why question silence? I hardly ever check on them in their sleep, as they have laid landmines of Hot Wheels and Bakugans that result in calamitous noise and god forbid I wake them. When they are playing nicely, I usually thank the powers that be and promptly make a cocktail. Because the little spawns of evil are likely to rear their nasty heads at any moment and I had better be prepared.