5 am: Been quite awhile since Kings came home in the wee hours of the morning… This am he sneaks in with Tim (whom we delightedly put up in Rockstar’s vacant room), on his latest visit from Malaysia after a night in the Macau casinos.
It’s becoming a family tradition, putting visitors in Rockstar’s room for a night or two. Over the years some of Rockstar’s “boarders” included Kings’ most important banking clients and somehow…. They’ve now become good friends. One famously also became my boss’ boss’ boss at work (Yes. That many layers up). AND one of the most desirable investment bank clients in the market. Maybe it’s the air in that room. Or the giddily happy Disney McQueen stickers that cover the walls.
Idly, I wonder how they got back, because last I remembered the last ferry leaves Macau just past midnight.
(If you win big in Macau, you traditionally take a helicopter ride back – but Kings’ attitude to gambling is not with a view to win big; he views gambling as a sport or bonding activity, for which he “spends” a pre-determined amount for “entertainment”. Kind of like if you buy a few rounds at the bar. That means he usually stays at the table until he has erm, spent his budget.
Once, eyeing the built-up pile of chips on his table, I dragged my husband off, in the proverbial “quit while you’re ahead” mentality.
But now I’ve learnt to leave him alone – Kings aims to win big at work. At investments. Not gambling.)
“Did I remember to put shower foam in the spare bathroom?” I call from the bed, and Kings wheels round, halfway into the shower, looking scandalized I’m not asleep. Rockstar, who has somehow found his way onto my pillow in the night however, is.
I munch a muesli bar from the stash I keep next to my bed for Rockstar and myself, then try to get back to sleep. Impossible.
“Gggggrrrrrooooo”
<snort>
“GGGRRRRROOOOOOOOoooooo”
From the coolest corner of our room, right under the aircon, comes a loud, exasperated sigh.
I smile into the night, at the lighted boats crossing the big square of ocean that fills the window view next to my side of the bed, even as the sky begins to get light.
JD is an even lighter a sleeper than I am. Her trendy yet heavy duty stainless steel (because she regularly swims in the sea in summer) choker chain with hot pink and black dog tags clinks as she turns over in an effort to get back to sleep.
(Note long-suffering expression)
“Gggggrrrrrooooo”
<snort>
When Kings is tired, he snores.
Regardless of exhaustion level, I talk in my sleep – very lucidly, with absolutely no recollection of what I’ve said in the morning. Once, Kings thought I was awake and scolding him. He claims we actually had a few exchanges before he realized I was talking in my sleep.
I dub this an illustration of how much Kings actually listens to me when I’m talking to him. Another reason why I send emails. Or blog it.
Rockstar snores and gabbles, depending how his day has been, and – in some bizarre hereditary progression of both parental traits – he occasionally also vigorously crawls about in his sleep.
JD loves guests. One more person to play fetch with, at least she hopes. Besides, it more than compensates for a lack of sleep she’ll get to make up for this afternoon, with Rockstar in school and everyone else out on various errands.
