I am on round five of a rousing game of sleep tag this evening, and I am seriously tuckered out. I only wish my kids felt the same way.
Never tried sleep tag? You don’t know what you’re missing out on! It’s barrels of fun. Really.
Here’s how it’s played itself out in our house tonight.
6:30. I put Thing 2 down for bed. He should sleep peacefully for the rest of the night. Or so I think.
6:45. Thing 1, resisting jammie time, runs screaming and naked down the hall past Thing 2’s room. Thing 2 awakens, and is not happy at all.
7:05. Thing 1, jammies now on, is camped out on our bed watching Yo Gabba Gabba. Thing 2 is still howling in his crib. I go in to try to calm him down. As I stroke his forehead, he starts drifting off to sleep. Classically, at that very moment, Thing 1 roars down the hall and declares she has to go potty. Thing 2 wakes up again, and baby screaming resumes.
7:20. Thing 1 goes down for bed. Thing 2 still hasn’t calmed down again, so I go back into his room and repeat the whole process again. He’s so overtired by this point, and he take about 30 minutes to calm down.
7:50. Thing 2 finally drifts off to sleep again. Just as I’m closing the door to his room, Thing 1 flings open her bedroom door, sobbing hysterically, because she just had a “nightmare.” Baby screaming resumes, again. I’m not making this stuff up… it was literally like clockwork. Her timing could not have been more perfect.
At this point, I just lose my marbles. I rant, I read her the riot act, and ashamedly so, I even curse at her. Sometimes, I wonder who the real four year-old is in our house. Needless to say, losing my cool did not help the situation any. Thing 1’s crying has escalated, and now both kids are screaming.
I decide another temper tantrum on my part will do no one any good, and I close the door to Thing 1’s room and go downstairs to try to pull my act together. While I’m down there, I grab a much-needed beer.
8:12. The screaming has faded to sporadic whimpering. I’m thinking (there I go again), that I might be in the clear now. When their rooms are finally silent, I keep my fingers crossed I don’t hear from either of the Things until morning.
Over my second beer, I stumble upon this random fact: Dr. Seuss (who this post is obviously inspired by), wrote over 60 children’s books, but never had kids of his own. Tonight, I’m kind of mulling over the genius of Dr. Seuss, and wondering… did he know something I didn’t?