I sat up with Michael for a while at 3am this morning. He's having trouble sleeping, due to a bad cold and wheeziness. I thought well, I'm sure a bit of World Cup Soccer is just what he needs to get him off to sleep. (Actually, I was sure it would do no such thing, but I was too weak to NOT turn on the telly when I knew it was all happening.) Sure enough, instead of being lulled off to sleep by the soothing green pitch and the repetitive passing of the well-drilled but not very creative Saudi Arabians, Michael yelled every time he saw some numbers, like the score, or the back of a player's shirt.
Off to sleep little bundle.
I saw two twos there! Twenty two!!
THREE! THREE! THREE! THREE!
Etcetera. We watched another twenty minutes, until the end of the match, under a gentleman's agreement that he would then go back to the cot with Doggie and give it another try.