I have complained in the past about the fact that three out of five people at my house don't seem to require as much sleep as ordinary humans. I am not one of those people. (I also have one eight year old daughter who is normal with regard to her sleep needs.) Here is the biggest dilemma: In addition to requiring 7-8 hours of sleep each night, I am also an introvert. Of course this does not mean that I hate people or that I am terribly socially awkward, but it does mean that I need time alone to recharge my batteries. So help me out here. How am I supposed to get time to myself when all of these people are always awake and chattering?
My husband can and does often entertain himself late into the night. My ten year old can also be persuaded to go to her own room and read, write, or draw, but my two year old is a real problem. A wide awake two year old should not be left unsupervised even if Mama needs her 'alone time'. I think it hits me especially hard during the summertime when I realize that I have been surrounded by talkative, needy people all day (and night). When nine o' clock rolls around, I start to see spots before my eyes, and I hear my voice turn slightly hysterical sounding as I respond to repeated requests from children. "Mommy, will you read to me?" feels like, "Mommy, can I shove a pencil up your nose and pull your hair for twenty minutes?"
"Please, just go to bed!" I moan (especially when my husband is out of town). Moaning and being generally overwhelmed and pathetic does not, however, work on my two year old, and I really try to suck it up and give her a calm and patient mama at bedtime. We choose a night gown and pick out the standard three books to read. I mutter a silent prayer in my mind, "Please not the Poky Little Puppy again! Jesus, give me strength if that damn puppy goes tumble bumble, pell-mell down the hill again, I might just gouge my eyeballs out." I manage to get through the stories each night. I sing the songs too. "Yes, dear, I will sing the theme song from Sesame Street again if you will get in your bed and go the #*@& to sleep when I'm finished." I smile sweetly and do everything just so. I quietly call out, "Good night," and tiptoe out the door.
I heave a great sigh of relief. It is 10 pm, and I am finally alone for the first time in about fifteen hours. I creep upstairs and slouch into my office chair where I check facebook to see if your mom has sent me that new recipe for chocolate chip pork chops that everyone in her church circle loved so much. Precisely 45 seconds later, I notice that my two year old has also silently ascended the stairs. "I just wanted to tell you," she says sweetly, "that dinosaurs poop outside but never in the desert." She recognizes the defeated grimace on my face.
I take a deep breath and say, "That's very interesting. We can talk about it tomorrow." I scoop her up, carry her back down the stairs, and tuck her back in to her bed. "Goodnight." I say with little warmth as I exit her room, but I hear her calling before the door is closed all the way.
"Mom! Mom! Mom! Lili's Mom!" She calls out, "I was just wondering: could I have some milk?" Had this been my first child, my response would have been completely different, but my third baby is rotten, and she gets the milk. I just don't have any fight left in me.
After delivering the milk, I pad upstairs again. I exhale and flop into my chair a second time. I lose myself on a popular bookseller's website. I enjoy reading about all of the books that I never seem to find the time to read. Things have been quiet downstairs for several minutes, and I finally start to relax when suddenly I hear things being knocked about in the kitchen downstairs. "Lili??" I call out as I jump up and make my way out of the office to have a look.
She is on tiptoes inside the refrigerator. "I'm just helping myself to a yogurt." She explains. I am a little too weary to be furious. I allow my third-born to eat two bites of yogurt before I tuck her under my arm like a wiggling sack of potatoes and deposit her back into her bed.
"You can eat more yogurt in the morning, " I say, "But now it's time to sleep."
"But I'm not TIE-YAHRD!" she squeals.
"Of course you aren't." I agree, "Goodnight." I cover her with her quilt which she immediately kicks into the floor. "Stay in bed." I bark.
I don't even bother going back upstairs. I go to brush my teeth abandoning all hope of quality time with myself. Two minutes later an obnoxiously cute little girl slips into my bathroom and says, "I was sleeping, but the cat waked me up."
"Okay." I say since there is no point in arguing with this person, "You need to go back to sleep and stay in bed." I take her hand and lead her a little more quickly than she wants to walk. "Get into your bed, and go to sleep." I say these words with great determination and finality. Then I go back to my room and climb into bed where I channel surf and finally settle on The Daily Show.
I hear creepy little footprints in the hallway. I look toward the door and see four fingers, one nose, and two eyes looking sheepishly around the door frame at me. "WHAT?" I ask, "What is it this time??" Sergeant Adorable scurries over to my bedside on two little bare feet.
"I smell toast." She whispers.
And even though I know that I should look at her sternly and march her back to her bed, I don't. I cannot do anything but throw my head back and laugh. She also laughs, not knowing why.
I scoop her up and kiss her little round cheeks. "There is no toast," I croak, "Go and get back in your bed." I place her back on the floor and she trots back into her room where she stays for several hours presumably sleeping at long last.
And that's just about all I have to say about that. I cannot explain it, and I generally place the blame squarely on my husband's shoulders. He has been out of town for the past few days, and he has likely been keeping strange hours with very few of those hours devoted to sleep. Often I wind up staying up ridiculously late since that is the only time I can truly be alone. This is really no good because the next morning I am tired and short on patience from the get go. I am pretty sure I need a vacation or, at the very least, a night in my Woman Cave ... with some toast.
My husband can and does often entertain himself late into the night. My ten year old can also be persuaded to go to her own room and read, write, or draw, but my two year old is a real problem. A wide awake two year old should not be left unsupervised even if Mama needs her 'alone time'. I think it hits me especially hard during the summertime when I realize that I have been surrounded by talkative, needy people all day (and night). When nine o' clock rolls around, I start to see spots before my eyes, and I hear my voice turn slightly hysterical sounding as I respond to repeated requests from children. "Mommy, will you read to me?" feels like, "Mommy, can I shove a pencil up your nose and pull your hair for twenty minutes?"
"Please, just go to bed!" I moan (especially when my husband is out of town). Moaning and being generally overwhelmed and pathetic does not, however, work on my two year old, and I really try to suck it up and give her a calm and patient mama at bedtime. We choose a night gown and pick out the standard three books to read. I mutter a silent prayer in my mind, "Please not the Poky Little Puppy again! Jesus, give me strength if that damn puppy goes tumble bumble, pell-mell down the hill again, I might just gouge my eyeballs out." I manage to get through the stories each night. I sing the songs too. "Yes, dear, I will sing the theme song from Sesame Street again if you will get in your bed and go the #*@& to sleep when I'm finished." I smile sweetly and do everything just so. I quietly call out, "Good night," and tiptoe out the door.
I heave a great sigh of relief. It is 10 pm, and I am finally alone for the first time in about fifteen hours. I creep upstairs and slouch into my office chair where I check facebook to see if your mom has sent me that new recipe for chocolate chip pork chops that everyone in her church circle loved so much. Precisely 45 seconds later, I notice that my two year old has also silently ascended the stairs. "I just wanted to tell you," she says sweetly, "that dinosaurs poop outside but never in the desert." She recognizes the defeated grimace on my face.
I take a deep breath and say, "That's very interesting. We can talk about it tomorrow." I scoop her up, carry her back down the stairs, and tuck her back in to her bed. "Goodnight." I say with little warmth as I exit her room, but I hear her calling before the door is closed all the way.
"Mom! Mom! Mom! Lili's Mom!" She calls out, "I was just wondering: could I have some milk?" Had this been my first child, my response would have been completely different, but my third baby is rotten, and she gets the milk. I just don't have any fight left in me.
After delivering the milk, I pad upstairs again. I exhale and flop into my chair a second time. I lose myself on a popular bookseller's website. I enjoy reading about all of the books that I never seem to find the time to read. Things have been quiet downstairs for several minutes, and I finally start to relax when suddenly I hear things being knocked about in the kitchen downstairs. "Lili??" I call out as I jump up and make my way out of the office to have a look.
She is on tiptoes inside the refrigerator. "I'm just helping myself to a yogurt." She explains. I am a little too weary to be furious. I allow my third-born to eat two bites of yogurt before I tuck her under my arm like a wiggling sack of potatoes and deposit her back into her bed.
"You can eat more yogurt in the morning, " I say, "But now it's time to sleep."
"But I'm not TIE-YAHRD!" she squeals.
"Of course you aren't." I agree, "Goodnight." I cover her with her quilt which she immediately kicks into the floor. "Stay in bed." I bark.
I don't even bother going back upstairs. I go to brush my teeth abandoning all hope of quality time with myself. Two minutes later an obnoxiously cute little girl slips into my bathroom and says, "I was sleeping, but the cat waked me up."
"Okay." I say since there is no point in arguing with this person, "You need to go back to sleep and stay in bed." I take her hand and lead her a little more quickly than she wants to walk. "Get into your bed, and go to sleep." I say these words with great determination and finality. Then I go back to my room and climb into bed where I channel surf and finally settle on The Daily Show.
I hear creepy little footprints in the hallway. I look toward the door and see four fingers, one nose, and two eyes looking sheepishly around the door frame at me. "WHAT?" I ask, "What is it this time??" Sergeant Adorable scurries over to my bedside on two little bare feet.
And even though I know that I should look at her sternly and march her back to her bed, I don't. I cannot do anything but throw my head back and laugh. She also laughs, not knowing why.
I scoop her up and kiss her little round cheeks. "There is no toast," I croak, "Go and get back in your bed." I place her back on the floor and she trots back into her room where she stays for several hours presumably sleeping at long last.
And that's just about all I have to say about that. I cannot explain it, and I generally place the blame squarely on my husband's shoulders. He has been out of town for the past few days, and he has likely been keeping strange hours with very few of those hours devoted to sleep. Often I wind up staying up ridiculously late since that is the only time I can truly be alone. This is really no good because the next morning I am tired and short on patience from the get go. I am pretty sure I need a vacation or, at the very least, a night in my Woman Cave ... with some toast.
"Conversation enriches the understanding, but solitude is the school of genius."
~Edward Gibbon
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