Ten Things My Daughter Says

For the second night in a row, my husband and I are up at 11 p.m. and cannot go to bed. Last night, we were held captive by the power of Easter candy sugar highs on our son and daughter, obviously tired but unable to fall asleep. Tonight, we are subject to the tears of our little girl brought on by a lost binky. And since that daughter is rolling all over my lap, unable to sleep without her precious pacifier but fully capable of spewing out sentences that her not quite two-year-old self can already say, I decided to write this post in her honor : Ten Things My Daughter Says

10. Mommy, where’s my bing-kee? (Oh, how I wish I knew)

9. I want ‘andy. (candy)

8. I want choc-it (chocolate–are you noticing a pattern?)

7. Mommy, Hammah Gyace is spit-in on me! (Hannah Grace is spitting on me)

6. Mommy, Ha-yub is hittin’ me! ( I was so relieved to learn that she could tattle on both her sister and brother, Caleb)

5. I do it! (Of course you do. How silly of me to think you needed help)

4. Mommy, hep me, peas. (help me, please. And dear Lord, help me, please, too)

3. I need to go potty (any time she wants to get down from her highchair, stroller, or out of bed)

2. Two minutes. (Her request for her mommy or daddy to stay in her room for just two more minutes at bedtime)

1. Hammah Gyace–look ah me! What happen? (to her three-year-old sister having a tantrum)

Clearly we have a very bright, independent, and, perhaps, bossy little girl. Now if she would just stop talking, I’d love to go to sleep. Linking up with Oh Amanda for her Top Ten Tuesday.

A Post Regarding Sleep Etiquette

I know I have written about different sleep issues before, but I feel a pressing need to compile a list of rules regarding sleep in one post. Here goes:

10. Dear child, if your bedtime is 7:30, you should not be awake at 11:30, especially when your mother’s bedtime is 10.

9. Children, your beds are for you. Daddy and Mommy’s bed is for us (as in the two of us). Barring a nightmare or sickness, please stay out of our bed. If one of the three of you feel the need to break this rule, please, please, please, no one else join that sibling.

8. Sweet child, if you feel the need to break the previous rule, please do not drink the glass of water on my nightstand. I was very disappointed when I awoke thirsty and found my drink stolen.

7. Big boy, if you decide to get in our bed, please do not step on my head.

6. My precious children, please learn to sleep in the vertical position. By the vertical position, I mean that you need to sleep with your head on a pillow. That pillow needs to remain at the head of the bed. The top part. The part against the wall. Near the windows in our room. Your feet should not touch me. At all. Ever. Your legs should not cross over my body in any way. Your body should make a straight or slightly curvy line so that your feet are in the direction of the foot of the bed. If you remain in your own bed, I do not care if you sleep sideways or upside down like you did last night .

5. My dear children, the previous rule is very important if two or more of you are in our bed. However, if you break that rule, please refrain from pushing off of my back with the balls of your feet. This rule also applies to my hip bone or any other part of my body.

4. Baby girl, stop snoring.

3. Kiddos, leave the covers alone!

2. Precious ones, please refrain from grinding your teeth. The Bible says that in hell people gnash their teeth, so when I hear whatever sound you’re making coupled with the agony that my body feels because of the strange positions in which you sleep, I start to get a little freaked out.

1. And finally, dear husband, do not hit snooze more than twice. After that point, I might throw your alarm out the window. (I know that point didn’t apply to this morning, but I thought it worth mentioning)

Linking up to Oh Amanda’s Top Ten Tuesday today. I hope to write a more thoughtful post about Christmas tomorrow. That is, if I get some sleep.

Sleep

“Daddy, the sun’s outside!!!” she hollered in excitement from the top of the stairs. “It’s morning!” Little feet began to scamper down the steps.

In fact, it was 7:40 p.m., and yes, outside was still light, but the sun was not shining. Hannah Grace was doing her best to avoid bedtime. Her brother and sister were already tucked away for the night, sleeping peacefully, but this little girl had no interest in sleep.

“I’m not tired!” she insisted, as I walked her back up the stairs her hand in mine. She probably wasn’t tired. She had snuck away with her sister’s pacifier into her own room at 11 a.m. that morning and proceeded to take a three hour nap. I thought about waking her up, but I knew she was exhausted, having still not recovered from her overnight visit a few days ago to her grandparents followed by dinner at her other grandparents the next night. She reminded me that night of why I no longer allow her to take naps.

I joined Matt again at the table, and we tried once more to enjoy our bowls of baked ziti. I pushed around my pasta and noticed my own tiredness creeping in. Perhaps I would go to bed early that night.

We talked a little bit about our days and what we wanted to accomplish with our evening. I was beginning to enjoy the quiet when we were interrupted once more.

“I see the MOON!!! It’s time to wake up!”

Clearly, if seeing the sun wouldn’t get her out of going to bed, then seeing the moon had to be the answer. Matt pushed back his chair as I let out a sigh. And so the bedtime game would continue.

I cleared the table while Matt stayed in Hannah Grace’s room, using his body to barricade the door. As I rinsed our bowls spotted with red sauce, I checked the time. 8:40 p.m. I pulled out the bottom tray in the dishwasher while doing a mental inventory of all the tasks I needed to complete before 24 and those I could accomplish while watching the show.

The truth is, I had no interest in the show anymore, but 24 had become somewhat of a tradition in our marriage. After our first Christmas as a married couple, watching the season one box set while spooning on the couch, we had continued to watch every season together. I wasn’t going to abandon the ritual with three hours left in the series.

The dishes rattled as I pushed in the tray and quickly moved to the laundry room. I just needed to throw the clothes in the dryer, take a quick shower, and then we could sit together and watch our show. I could upload pictures while 24 was on and write my blog. My mind was blank, but I knew I wanted to write; I hoped inspiration would hit once I started typing.

I finished the chores and swiftly went up the stairs, allowing a huge yawn to escape my mouth. I met Matt in the hallway.

“I don’t think she’s asleep,” he said, “but she’s quiet.”

“Okay, I’m just going to take a quick shower before 24.”

I started to walk away when,”Daddy, don’t leave. I’m not asleep, yet,” came from the two-year-old’s room. I kept walking, not wanting to get sucked into the bedtime drama before getting my shower. Thank goodness for DVRs–it was already 9:00.

Hannah Grace eventually went to sleep, and Matt and I eventually made it to the couch to watch TV. I, half-heartedly, listened to 24 while uploading pictures to Flickr so that I could order them from Snapfish. I really only wanted our most recent family picture from Easter to send to our sponsored child, but my gift card would cover a lot more prints.

“Okay,” I thought. “I’ll just order a few more prints and then call it a night after 24. I’m too tired to write.”

I didn’t want to leave a job half-finished, and I did need to print our daughter’s first birthday pictures–no, not Chloe’s. Hannah Grace’s–the daughter who turned one almost two years ago.

24 was over, and I only had $10 worth of prints uploaded. My gift card was for $20. I proceeded to spend another hour selecting each picture that would find a spot in my half-empty photo album, empty slots that begged to be filled with images of laughter and babies, birthdays and loved ones. I sipped the chai tea Matt had made for me, knowing it was decaf but wishing it would help pry my eyelids open.

Why did I insist on continuing? Couldn’t I go to bed and finish tomorrow?

“No!” I scolded myself. “That’s exactly why I don’t have any pictures of the kids in albums–it always gets pushed off until tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll still have chores, and I want to write. I can’t keep letting days go by without writing. And I can’t get any of this junk done during the day because the kids don’t nap. I don’t get free time. This is my free time. Midnight.”

I felt my blood pressure rising as I argued with myself, the good angel telling me to walk up the stairs to bed, the little demon pressing me to continue. After all, Matt had been trying to get the wireless printer to work for the last two hours, too. Neither one of us was ready to call it a night.

I finally made my last selection, confident that I was close enough to that $20 mark. Tax and shipping should get me there. I scratched off the back of the gift card, little silver flecks falling in my lap, revealing the coupon code. I carefully entered the numbers in the box and hit enter.

Snapfish did not recognize this coupon code.

Okay. I tried again, pushing each number key with my index finger, double-checking my entry as I went along.

Same error message.

I flipped my gift card over. Shutterfly. The gift card was for Shutterfly, not Snapfish.

At that moment, the fatigue knocked me down like a wave crashing to meet the shore. I had spent two hours, arguing with myself the whole time, in an attempt to accomplish this task. Just something. I wanted to accomplish one thing that wasn’t related to housework or kids, yet I had nothing to show for my effort.

I angrily packed up my laptop and woke up Matt. He had snoozed next to me on the couch, giving up on his own venture a few minutes before.

As I wearily walked up the stairs, I thought to myself, “Why do I do this? Why do I fight sleep? I’m no different than Hannah Grace….”

I, just like my daughter, had searched for every excuse to stay up when my body was begging sleep:

“The sun’s shining!” ” There are dirty dishes!”

“The moon’s out!” ” I must print some pictures!”

“I’m not tired!” “I’m so tired…but”

I fight sleep in a quest to feel productive, in a quest to elevate my worth. The more things I can check off my to-do list, the more examples I can cite for my excellence as a mother, as a wife.

I fight sleep so that the next day I can fight with my children and my husband, my body full of fatigue, my mind empty of patience. I fight sleep so that I can fight with God about the way I should act, about how hard my life is, about why I can’t concentrate when I pray…yawn…

I fight sleep…when really…I should just go to bed.

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.

In a Funk

If you decide to read this post, beware. I don’t really have a plan for where I am going with this entry, but I needed to write. I’m feeling a little sad today, and writing always helps. Since it’s only 11:15 A.M., I want to start while I still have time to fix my mood and salvage the rest of the day!

I don’t think there is one thing in particular that is making me sad but a lot of little things piling up. For one, Caleb is sick with the flu, and in the process, I found out that I am not the compassionate person that I always thought I was. I hate seeing my son sick, but apparently I don’t deal very well with incessant whining and dramatics, either. Being stuck in the house since Thursday only leaving to take Hannah Grace to preschool and Caleb to the doctor has caused me to go a little batty. Well, being stuck in the house probably wouldn’t make me go batty that quickly, but being stuck with the incessant whining and dramatics has apparently done me in!

So…going batty has made me a little sad because I want to be sane, and not having compassion for a three-year-old who is sick makes me feel like someone should slap me (I have had compassion at times, just not the whole time). Please don’t slap me, though. I’m in a fragile state.

The battiness (and my freewill) also caused me to be mean to my husband last night, so I feel bad about that fact this morning. Maybe I can make it up to him by putting on some lip gloss. It’ll complete my outfit of a red sweatshirt, red pajama bottoms, multi-colored fuzzy socks, and crazy hair.

My sleep deprivation keeps getting worse, and I know that doesn’t help me with my mood control. My children have been conspiring again, and each of them were up during the night, but of course, at different times. Chloe woke up at 11:30 and 2 or 3 or 4–I really have no idea–screaming. She didn’t need to eat but needed comfort, so I am fearful that she may have an illness brewing…or maybe some teeth. Either way, I know my sleep will be limited over the next week.

Hannah Grace, true to form, had two full-out, kicking-her-door-in temper tantrums in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, and as I stated previously, not at the same time when I was already awake with Chloe. She came after Chloe’s first spell but before the next.

And in one of my better moments of showing compassion, Caleb woke up requesting medicine, after bounding in our bed a few hours earlier. Maybe the heat from his fever contributed to my sweating through my shirt, soaking my sheets beneath me, causing me to change shirts in the middle of the night but not being able to change the sheets since my two boys were sound asleep in bed. I was freezing all night.

On top of the illness and sleep deprivation, I’m a little depressed at the condition of my home, for which normally I would give myself a pass given the circumstances, but our realtor is coming on Wednesday (if Caleb is better) to assess our home before we put it on the market. I can only weep inside.

Yes, these are the reasons I’m feeling a little blue, but alas, life goes on. My baby is up from her nap, a little boy wants to watch more TV (Hey, he’s sick! I’ll give in), and my girl wants a snack. A mommy has to deal and go on, right? Writing is such good therapy!

Dear God, thank you for the grace and compassion you have for me every day. I’m so thankful your supply doesn’t run out the way mine does. Can you please send me some more to deal with my children and everything that will happen today? Thank you! Amen.

The Morning I Knew My Husband Really Loves Me

I previously had the idea that my children conspire to make certain nights hellish for my husband and me. I don’t think that they have a hushed meeting behind a closed closet door huddled around a flashlight while articulating their plan–that’s silly–our flashlight needs new batteries, and the baby can’t sit up. I am leaning toward the idea that their brains telepathically communicate that they should get up in the middle of the night. And often. And staggered.

It’s 12 A.M., and I decide that, perhaps, Chloe isn’t going to wake up soon to eat, so I should go ahead and get in a couple hours of sleep. At 12:15, I hear her little cry. I grab my glasses off my nightstand, amazed at how quickly I went from awake to asleep and now very groggy. I take my time swinging my feet over the side of the bed and listen as Matt gets up to change the baby. I go to meet him in her room; I’ll nurse her in the rocking chair. Instead, I meet Matt in the doorway.

“She just wanted her binky. She’s back asleep.”

I climb back in our bed that’s much too tall for me (although, I love it) and begin to snuggle under my sheet and next to Matt. The little cry returns.

“Uggh,” or some other kind of grunt leaves my mouth. I look over at Matt who decided he had already completed his duty and continue getting back down from our bed. I go into Chloe’s room and smile at this sweet baby who is looking up at me with the sleepiest little face. I pick her up and change her and then move us into the rocking chair. As she nurses, I relax into the chair, allowing my head to fall to the side and my body to melt into the cushions as much as possible while nursing in an upright position. When I don’t notice any more sucking, I gently pick up Chloe and lay her back down in her crib, positioning her binky back in her tiny mouth.

As I walk into my room, I look forward to the ascent into my bed, as Chloe should now have her long stretch of sleep. Maybe, tonight she’ll sleep eight hours straight as she did a few weeks ago. I take off my glasses and lay them on the nightstand and begin to drop next to Matt on my pillow when I hear footsteps scurrying down the hallway. Footsteps carry emotions with them, and these footsteps are carrying a scared little boy.

Caleb frantically bounds into our bed, and I try to suppress another “uggh” knowing that my little boy is scared.

“Come on, Caleb. I’ll lie down with you in your bed. Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”

I finally convince him that I’ll really follow if he gets out of my bed, and we jump down. We make a quick pit-stop to the potty, and then crawl into his little twin bed. I will myself not to fall asleep so as to be able to move my neck in the morning. When I am assured that Caleb is calm and sleeping, I trek back down the hallway and into my room.

I glance at the clock on Matt’s nightstand which now reads a little past 1 A.M. and muster up the strength to climb what now looks like Mt. Everest. It’s less than six hours before the alarm is supposed to wake me, but I welcome any sleep and snuggle next to Matt.

Chloe must read my thought and takes it literally because she awakes at 3:30 to which I announce, “I am not feeding her.” Matt quiets her but eventually brings her in our bed at 4:30 when she yells that she’s not kidding. I try to nurse her while lying down, even though I’m fairly certain that she’s not hungry. I don’t care; I just want to sleep, and if nursing Chloe will achieve that goal, so be it.

Unfortunately, Chloe doesn’t want to eat and squirms and cries.

“Maybe she’s uncomfortable. Let me get a diaper; you watch her,” I order Matt as I hop off the bed. I zig-zag down the hallway as a drunken woman looking for a drink, except I don’t need any help passing out. I have to descend our stairs to get a cloth diaper out of the dryer ( I really need to buy more of those things) and back up again. I change Chloe only to produce the same result–a squirmy, crying baby.

Back off the tallest bed in the world with Chloe in tow and onto her rocking chair. As I hold her close and softly sing, I feel her break wind against my hand and know the cause of her discomfort. We gently rock until she is finally soothed, and I lay her down in her crib.

It’s almost 5 A.M., and I wonder if it’s even worth climbing into bed but try once again. This time I don’t attempt any closeness with Matt, nor him with me. We are both curled into our own little cocoons of quiet, and I let sleep envelop me.

When Matt’s alarm goes off at 5:30 A.M, I am amazed that he actually gets out of bed. Guessing our talk about guarding our family time has hit home with him, I roll back over knowing Matt will be off to the gym soon. I hear the shower but am too tired to process what that sound means.

About 15 minutes later, I hear footsteps running down the hallway. This time, they carry the emotion of happiness with them, and a little boy bounds into my bed.

“Put Curious George on!” Caleb exclaims excitedly.

“Caleb, lay down and go to sleep. It’s not even 6:00!” I grunt, but Caleb is wide awake. When I beg him again in a tone that is much harsher than I intend, he plops off the bed and in a pile on the floor. I quickly apologize and plead with him to lie down next to me in bed. We can snuggle.

Caleb complies, but all of these dramatics have roused me. I know I will not sleep any more this morning.

When Matt finally comes out of the bathroom dressed, I ask him, “What are you doing? I mean, why are you up so early if you’re not going to the gym.”

“I wanted to get in early in case I have to leave to help you out.”

As I push through the fog of thoughts in my mind–Does he think I might fall asleep and need someone to watch the kids? Is he afraid I’m going to hurt the kids?!–I understand his statement.

“My doctor’s appointment is tomorrow, Matt.”

I very well may have told Matt that I was looking for someone to watch the kids today, Thursday, instead of Friday. I don’t know. What I do know is the look of utter dejection on my husband’s face when he realized he had woken up at 5:30 A.M. on no sleep for nothing. And in that moment, I knew he must love me more than anything.

For weeks, months, years, Matt has tried to wake up early in order to get to the gym before work instead of after. His pattern of hitting the snooze button for two hours straight has become a sore spot in our marriage. He cannot seem to wake up early for anything, yet he did it, on maybe two hours of solid sleep, for me.

As tired as I am, I stare at him from amidst the covers and pillows and feel a warmth inside I hadn’t quite felt in such a way before. We kiss, say our “I love you’s,” and Matt heads down the hallway only to return a moment later with another child.

“She’s awake, too?” I question incredulously as Matt puts Hannah Grace in bed with me.

“Yes. She was just standing at the baby gate staring.”

I can only smile and officially get up to get the kids ready for preschool. I have the fleeting thought that they will nap well today, but I know better than to believe such an idea.

I’ve never been a coffee-drinker, but I think today might be a good day to start.