10 Signs That You Are Sleep-Deprived

10. When the doctor tells you that your son’s fever should be better in three or four days, you ask him for the exact day–any math is too complicated.

9. When the dosage for your son’s medicine does not automatically correspond to one of the lines on the medicine cup, you wait for your husband to get home to measure it.

8. You have resorted to asking your three-year-old to remind you to give him his medicine.

7. You have yet to call any of your children by his or her correct name all day.

6. On your rare date night out with your husband, you hesitate to pick a movie with a start time later than 8:00 for fear of falling asleep after the previews.

5. You’ve gone upstairs three times but have yet to come down with the item for which you made the trip.

4. Your husband handed you a coupon and less than one minute later you have no recollection of this incident taking place.

3. When your baby wakes up in the middle of the night crying, you find that you’re crying harder than she.

2. After your baby goes back to sleep you’re still crying.

1. You tried to watch the Disney classic Snow White with your children without falling asleep, but the movie is just too long–and you’re under the age of 70.

Taming the Tantrum

My daughter is beautiful and sweet and cuddly and everything anyone could hope for in a little girl, but she’s also a lot more. Inside that cute, chubby body is a bag of terrible; after all, she is two.

Hannah Grace gives the best hugs I have ever received–she wraps her arms and legs completely around me like we’re two koalas–and then she finishes with a kiss, and it’s not little by any means! She is extremely affectionate. The other day, she caressed my mother’s face while saying, “My beautiful, my precious.”

Hannah Grace also gives the best tantrums I have ever seen. I was not aware that a child could muster up the strength or energy to have a temper tantrum for two hours straight IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. I am not exaggerating–two hours.

Let me paint a quick picture for you: I am stirring in my bed somewhat as Matt has gone to check on Hannah Grace who has summoned him. All of sudden, I sit upright, startled, as I hear a fire engine wailing down our street in our neighborhood. Oh, wait; it’s just Hannah Grace. And to make sure that Matt and I know that she is really the one screaming the most obnoxious sound you will ever hear, she continues the tantrum by attempting to kick down her door. Well, her half of a door. Her daddy sawed her door in half so that we could lock the bottom portion yet still see her through the open top portion. That’s what happens when naughty children won’t stay in their beds!

Obviously, Mommy was not happy after a few nights of listening to these types of tantrums, so she had a talk with Hannah Grace before bedtime last night: “Hannah Grace, listen to me. If you wake up in the middle of the night, I want you to squeeze your bear, and go back to sleep. Do not scream for Mommy or Daddy or kick your door. We will not come. Now, if you wake up, and it’s still dark outside, what are you going to do?”

“I kick my door.”

“No, Hannah Grace. Do not kick your door. If you wake up, and it’s still dark, you are going to hug your bear, and go back to sleep. What are you going to do if you wake up?”

“I going to kick my door.”

“No, Hannah Grace. Do NOT kick your door because I will not come for you. You are going to go back to sleep. What are you going to do?”

“I go back to sleep.”

I got the answer that I wanted, but I certainly was not reassured.

At four A.M., I hear a quiet call for me: “Mommy? Mommy?”

I was panicked. My little angel was awake. “Okay, Hannah, I hear you. Give me a minute.” I really had to go to the bathroom, but I was hoping I wasn’t making a big mistake. After taking care of my business, I quietly walked down the hallway to Hannah Grace’s room. She was lying on the floor in a ball right in front of her door–NOT kicking or screaming.

I was so proud, and at her request, I lay down next to hear on the floor for a couple of minutes. We snuggled together until I thought she was asleep, and then I got up to leave. “Two more minutes?” she softly petitioned. “Okay, Hannah, but after two minutes, I’m going to go.” She nodded her head in affirmation as she closed her eyes. About two minutes later, I heard heavy breathing assuring me she was asleep.

As I snuck out of her room, I had to smile. My little girl had actually practiced restraint. She quietly called for me and then trusted that I would come if she did not kick or scream. She had tamed her tantrum.

And on that same walk back to my bedroom, I had another thought: “If a two-year-old can tame her tantrum, why can’t you tame yours?” Sure, I don’t literally try to kick down a door in the middle of the night, but I could pick my words or tone more carefully during the day.

When the kids or Matt don’t behave, how do I react? If I don’t get my way, do I pout, or do I deal with it? Am I overly critical with those I love most, not giving them the grace that I give strangers?

Aarghh. Why do these thoughts come to me in the middle of the night? I REALLY hate learning lessons from my kids.

But the reality of the situation is, when I’m terrible, I’m just not nearly as adorable as they are!

The Day After September 11th

As I looked at my facebook page throughout the day, I noticed many status updates focusing on what people remembered from this date eight years ago.I, too, am able to recount where I was eight years ago on that dreadful morning–at a new teacher’s conference to be exact–but my thoughts quickly moved on to another topic. September 12th and all the days after.

How is my life different as a result of 9/11? Not just longer airport lines and things that are out of my control, but how am I living any differently?

When 9/11 happened, I was only 22, newly engaged and working as a new teacher. I didn’t have too many problems, so-to-speak. This September 11, I’m looking back over a really lousy week as a mother of three and wife and evaluating many aspects of my life. The meaning of 9/11 is hitting me harder now, possibly, than it did eight years ago.

Eight years ago, a husband didn’t come home. A mother didn’t get to tuck her kids into bed. A girlfriend didn’t get to experience her wedding night. A father-to-be didn’t see the birth of his son.

As I thought about September 11th, I didn’t think about the on-going political implications of the tragedy or anything other than how I was living my life. By the grace of God, I am here to write this blog today and share it with anyone that God also chose to grant another day, and, yet, today could be my last.

Even as I had these thoughts, I continued to figure out how I would win the argument that I would inevitably have at the end of the night. Honestly, I still don’t feel any better, but I want to. I want to fully embrace the idea that today could be my last day.

On September 11, 2001, I don’t know if the mother possibly had to hold back tears as she dropped off her smart-aleck teenager at school. I don’t know if the soon-to-be-Daddy sighed thinking about his crabby wife with swollen feet and all the complaints she’d have for him when he’d walk through the door that evening. But I do know they would each squeeze their loved one a lot harder and a lot longer if they knew it would be their last embrace.

It’s easy for me to remember 9/11. Unfortunately, it’s also easy for me to forget.