Our Post Apocalypse Realization That We Need More Sleep

For real. That is a thing that happened. Our house caught fire. We can’t live in it anymore. And it happened days before Christmas.

I mean, that’s not our house in the picture. And the house isn’t gone. Edmonton fire fighters are ferociously efficient. If you drove by our house, from the front you might not be able to tell that pseudo tragedy had struck. But here’s what happened.

On Dec 20, 2021, at 2:37 pm, I got a text from my partner.

It said, “House fire.”

I got home at 3 and the feeling I’ve had since has been that of sleepwalking. But while awake enough to realize that I’m sleepwalking.

Housekeeping first.

Everyone is ok. My partner got the kids and pets out before the ceilings started coming down.

We’re going to continue to be ok. We have a place lined up to move into on Monday (right across the street from our fiery pre-Christmas abode.)

We lost a lot of stuff. It’ll be cleaned or replaced by insurance. That’ll take a while. That’s going to suck.

We’re healthy, still semi-sane, and on the mend.

But man, do I miss sleep.

Here’s a thing they don’t tell you about disaster. You have to solve all the problems. You have to keep solving problems until your chaos/sanguine equilibrium is at least 10% above the water you’re drowning in. You just have to.

And so…

Problem 1: where to sleep?

The fire was electrical. It started in the ceiling fan in our main floor bathroom, when the kids flipped the light switch. A wire shorted, the short caused a spark, the spark lit up the insulation. And by 2:37 pm, 5 days before Christmas, and on my birthday, the ceiling came down.

I don’t understand house structural stuff but I’ve been led to understand that support trusses disintegrating is bad.

I sat in the fire inspector’s truck beside my partner while we were given a basic rundown of what was going on.

No, we wouldn’t be able to sleep in the house tonight. (Current estimates on when we can sleep in our home is set at eight months. Place your bets.)

Yes, we would be allowed to grab a few items, but nothing from the impacted parts of the house which were: the rear corner upstairs (where the kids’ bedrooms are) and the basement (where our bedroom, the clean laundry, and the playroom are).

Yes, the Red Cross would be able to get us set up in a hotel for a few days, but then we were on our own until we could get back into our home. Mental note: contact insurance immediately.

Problem 2: How were we going to afford all this madness after the Red Cross support period lapsed (I cannot express how much I appreciate the fact that we had this option.)?

Five days before Christmas and we had basically enough in the tank to last us ‘til the end of the month. We’re not alone in that being, as we are, in the 30/40 something parenting set, especially mid-pandemic, especially in 2021 where the idea of not living month to month seems a fantasy akin to winning the lottery. The idea of always having two months expenses in the bank is the stuff of aspirational science fiction written by a middle-schooler with no grip on post colonial economics. We did not have enough money for an extended hotel staycation with no clothes or food packed.

So….

Even if we managed accommodation past the three days (we did, we have lovely wonderful friends who are taking us in until we can move into our new temporary housing next week) we’d still need to feed five people and 4 pets, clothe five people, and keep five people entertained enough to avoid any unintentional Christmas….accidents. (The children have been giving us feral glares the more bored they get.)

Turns out, we’ve got an excellent support system. Every day so far people have brought us clothes or food, or helped coordinate what we’ll need in the new place, given that we can’t get our furniture, clothes, groceries, electronics, or books out. That problem was far easier for us to manage than we expected while we were rushing out the front door trying to round up charging cables and boots.

Problem 3:

Two of our three littles are preteens. Preteens are far worse in 2021 than a quick re-read of Lord of the Flies prepares you for. Preteens in 2021 are predators. They “need” wifi and game consoles and a wide variety of snacks and space, but not too much space and…actually it turned out that they just really needed their phones. TikTok is a heck of a drug. And company. And hugs. And root beer. The great root beer shortage of 2021 could make a whole other story on its own. Emergency texts have been sent. But mostly they’ve just needed hugs and to be told that no, just because one of them flipped the light switch that ultimately sparked the fire, doesn’t mean that either of them was responsible.

Problem 4: My partner is agoraphobic and suffers from PTSD. Being in a hotel with none of the comforts of home is essentially the same as finding herself suddenly stuck on Mars without Mark Watney’s botany super powers. Watching her science the shit out of navigating this issue has been awe inspiring, but the problem still persists. And it means sometimes she just needs to shut down and process what’s happening inside in order to make it to the next thing.

Which means….

Neither of us is getting a lot of sleep.

Good sleep, the kind that regenerates you and allows your late in the day relaxation time to be for relaxing, not napping, is one of those things we’re waiting to have again.

But, we realized, we weren’t really getting much of it before we got deus ex machina’d into a different existence. Between the normal parental and financial stresses of December, and my partner’s work around the clock habits due to Christmas being her busiest season, an average night has been about five hours worth.

That’s bad.

So….

In the moments where all the kids have been settled, and our phones aren’t ringing off the hook with calls and texts from friends and family and clients and insurance and landlords old and new, AND where my partner isn’t curled up into a ball from the stresses of being out in the world this long, we talk about what life after this…derailment will be like.

And a big thing we’ve decided on is that we need more sleep. Uninterrupted, healing, comfortable, quality sleep.

Because, we’ve learned, sometimes you get thrown into circumstances where sleep is impossible. And it’d be nice to have some banked, the next time a ceiling in our lives decides to flatten some beds.

In 2022 we’re gonna be old sleepy people. We’re gonna get cranky when our phone rings after 830. On a Saturday. Just as soon as we get new beds.

Because ya’ll? We’re so tired.

PS:

We’re gonna be fine. But the next couple of months are going to be a challenge for all of us, especially on the waiting for insurance to provide funds for things we need to replace today, not three months from now. If you’re able and of the disposition to help, click the link to our GoFundMe. If you can’t help financially, please share the link on your social media. And if you just want to say hi and that you’re thinking of us, hop on over to my Facebook page (link is in my bio) and shoot us a message.

Also…

I’m writing a book! About transgender superheroes freeing enslaved inter-dimensional couriers from the inconvenient bondage of evil, wizard-enforced multi-versal capitalist mundanity. If that sounds like your thing and you’d like to be updated with progress on it, and eventually find out where you can get a copy, follow me here, or come subscribe to my Facebook page.