But indeed, after two very late nights, poor sports-enthused, football-loving, Colts-adoring Noah couldn't make it. And despite eight other people talking and cheering, and the Super Bowl game blaring in two feet front of him, he couldn't hold on.
And so I picked him up, all 54.3 pounds of him, (he loves to weigh himself daily, and often asks me to do the same, I decline) and carried him up two flights of stairs to his bed. As I put him into bed, he shot up and snapped at me, "Why are you picking me up in the middle of the game? I was totally watching that!"
Noah doesn't believe he sleeps. Ask him. He'll tell you that he doesn't. I keep telling him we have all kinds of ways to prove otherwise. But he refuses to believe it.
So he headed back downstairs to watch. Our friends Dawn and Dory and their kids, Chase and Ty, had joined us for the night.
A little watching, a lot of talking and laughing, too much eating, and some football playing of our own.
I joked this might have been the only Super Bowl party in the country with 25% of the attendees wearing Packers jerseys.
