Pretend I said that in a Martha Stewart voice.
And now, this morning, two out of three are awake. So here's to a day of "keeping the morning bright and busy", a solid nap, a physically active afternoon, and a bedtime routine faithfully followed. Because we all need to get us some Z's around here--or the poor Husband's head will pop, and then Mama will melt into a puddle of goo.
Cheers,
Breanna
P.S. It really isn't that bad, it's just the tiredness amplifies everything and makes you not quite rational. Try it some time. I have a baby I can lend you, if you're curious about the phenomenon.
P.P.S. We thought it was really cute when Miss Boo gave Buddy the nickname "Buddy". However she's been calling Littleman "Goog" lately, and sometimes "Goog-butts" for no reason I can fathom. I don't think we'll be adopting that one in daily parlance.
So we realized, yesterday, when I was perusing a sleep book whose information I knew perfectly well but I had somehow forgotten...that the average (and recommended) sleep per-day for a three-year-old is 11 1/2 hours, plus a 1 hour nap. We looked at the symptom list for "not getting enough sleep" and at Miss Boo and totted up her hours. Can you guess how many she was getting, these last couple of weeks of long sunsets and hyperactive afternoons?
Eight. And no nap. That's right--she's been four hours short, at least, every night, for two weeks. No wonder the kid was hyper, whiny, stubborn, and heartbroken over things like the marker being the wrong color. I get that way when I'm four hours short of sleep, too.
So yesterday we enforced a nap. Or actually, Mama just grabbed kids at a strategic siesta time and held them still long enough for their bodies to say "YES! GO TO SLEEP!" They each slept an hour and a half.
Then we went outside for swimming. And parent collapsing.
Littleman, whose sleep has not been disrupted (he sleeps like a tank) has been trying to figure out why everybody else has been draped in various positions over horizontal objects for so long.
It's very confusing.
And boring. He has been talking and talking to the ceiling fan but it never talks back. And people for some reason object when he wakes up in the middle of the night to practice crawling.
Because he's crawling. Oh yes. Actual crawling, none of this rolling or commando-style scooting. We're talking hands-and-knees crawling. At four-almost-five months. Oh, Heaven preserve us, he's going to be the kid that walks at eight months, I just know it.
And now, this morning, two out of three are awake. So here's to a day of "keeping the morning bright and busy", a solid nap, a physically active afternoon, and a bedtime routine faithfully followed. Because we all need to get us some Z's around here--or the poor Husband's head will pop, and then Mama will melt into a puddle of goo.
Cheers,
Breanna
P.S. It really isn't that bad, it's just the tiredness amplifies everything and makes you not quite rational. Try it some time. I have a baby I can lend you, if you're curious about the phenomenon.
P.P.S. We thought it was really cute when Miss Boo gave Buddy the nickname "Buddy". However she's been calling Littleman "Goog" lately, and sometimes "Goog-butts" for no reason I can fathom. I don't think we'll be adopting that one in daily parlance.
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