I don’t enjoy being kicked in the head, and I’ve never met anyone who does. Even really, really tough guys who fight a lot probably don’t enjoy that part of the job. I’ve managed to steer clear of any serious fisticuffs thus far in my life, but I do frequently wake to being repeatedly kicked in the head. It’s my son and daughter who do the kicking. Ezra is 3 and Mia is 5, and they’ve both slept in their own beds for a long time. But they’re clever and stealthy, so occasionally they’ll go on streaks of waking up in the wee hours and climbing into bed with me and Mom. And while I never hear them climb in, I do feel it when they sprawl out in their slumber and start kicking me in the head. I have already mentioned that this is not enjoyable. It’s uncomfortable and robs me of sleep that, as I get older, I find myself really needing to stock up on in order to make it through the next day. The fireman and the house-helper But here’s the confounding difficulty of parenting; I’m supposed to enjoy those particular head-kicking instances. If you have no children it’ll be hard to grasp this, but if you do, you’ll understand. My daughter Mia is 5, and my son Ezra is 3. They still think my wife and I are pretty much the most awesome people in the world. They actualy wake up in the middle of the night and think, “Hey! This is an opportunity to be closer to Mom and Dad! Hell, I could actually be pinned right between them for the next […]