Sleep, blessed sleep. While my kids are now teens and have the hibernating habits of bears, I remember all too well the fitful nights and the early wake-up calls. Years of getting no more than two hours of consecutive sleep adds up. All of those lost REM minutes make me want to drown my sorrows in Sleepytime tea because I figure I’m wallowing in a sleep deficit so deep, I won’t ever crawl, dream–or buy–my way out of it. That got me to thinking.

If I had a nickel for every time my wee tikes let me sleep in, I could . . .

1. Buy 1/2,313,333,333 of Citizens Bank Park.

Still tired, but at least I’d be entertained.

2. Pay off 1/6,666,667 of a vacation home.

It would, of course, have a soundproofed room for me.

3. Buy 1/1,333,333 of an RV.

Someone could drive me around WHILE I was sleeping.

4. Purchase 1/186,666 of a Camaro.

Someone could still drive me around while I was sleeping, but parking would be easier. Easy parking might be more important than sleep. (Don’t listen to me, I’m sleep deprived.)

5. Enjoy 1/49,838 of an island getaway.

Even if one week is not enough to dent my deficit. Who cares? Look at this place.

6. Get 1/19,260 of a Sleep Number bed.

Man, that looks comfy, but it still doesn’t do anything about the noise. Is there a model with a cone of silence? There should be. Get me Sleep Number on the phone . . .

If I Had a Nickle for Every Time My Kids Let Me Sleep In -- Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms -- What would you pay for sleep? Well, this is what you could buy if you had a nickel for every time your kid let you sleep in.

Source: Sleep Number

7. Purchase 1/1,133 of a super, duper sound machine.

This might drown out the noise, but it won’t do anything for when the preschooler creeps into your room, hovers over you, and concentrates a stare on your sleeping form so powerful, it penetrates into your subconsciousness for the worst wake-up alarm ever. Where’s the “stop bugging me setting”?

8. Buy 1/53 of a box of ZzzQuil.

Getting more into my price range, but this is only over-priced Benadryl. See? I do use my medical degree.

9. Purchase a cup of coffee in 1948.

Because when sleep fails you, caffeine is the answer. If only I had a time machine . . .

Oh, and before you start making a voodoo doll in my image because you picture me blissfully slumbering in my toddler-less home, know that teenagers shave off minutes of sleep on the other end. Sometimes I’m running kids around in a loop from 9 pm until midnight, but I’ll take that over the most dreaded sleep snatcher of all: waiting up for them to get home.

So did I make you feel better by letting you know it never gets better? Maybe we can all pool our money together for a week in St. Thomas. Now THAT would make us all feel so great we wouldn’t even care about the bags under our eyes.