Showing posts with label Sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sleep. Show all posts

Monday, April 06, 2009

Getting The Rooster Down

[There is a great thrashing of three year old arms and legs.]

"It's time to go to sleep, Roo."
"It's time to go to sleep, Roo."
"It's time to go to sleep, Roo."

[There is a very sudden and rhythmic snoring...]

Right now, in states far away, my parents enjoy a satisfied laugh.

"Karmic justice," they say.

Monday, November 24, 2008

In The Family Sandwich

On Saturday morning, The Mayor woke up early.

[Like REALLY effing early.]

He opened his eyes, and yelled,


K went running to his room only to find that he was in need of exactly nothing.

He just wanted to inform the household that he was awake.

K tried to encourage him to go back to sleep until he heard The Rooster.

The Mayor had woken his sister.

[Oh, sin of sins! May the greatest punishment rain down upon you! Fie! Fie!]

There is a digital clock in the children's bedroom and a post-it note with the number 7 written on it in thick, black marker is stuck to it's face covering the minutes.

Only the number representing the hour is visible.

"You are not aloud to wake up before the number on the clock matches the number on the note. If you DO wake up before the number is a seven, you have to be AS QUIET AS A MICE until the number is a seven."

K and I have both delivered this speech a number of times.

[You can see how well it's working.]

On Sunday morning, again, REALLY early, K and I heard,


This time it was The Rooster.

K marched sleepily to their room.

"It is NOT seven. It is NOT time to get up. You have two choices: play quietly or go back to sleep, but you may NOT wake up Mommy and Daddy until seven."

He came back to our bedroom and shut the door.

A while later I heard our bedroom door knob turning.

The Mayor and The Rooster crept in and crawled into our bed.

The Rooster stepped on my face to get between me and her father and The Mayor cuddled against my side on the edge of the bed.

"It's seven!" they whispered, triumphantly, giggling.

"We're a Family Sandwich!" Rooster said looking at all four of us in the one bed.

"Daddy and I are the bread," The Mayor observed.

"Yeah! And I'm the cheese and Mommy's the turkey," The Rooster finished.

The turkey?

Oh, tell me about it.

It's early in the morning and Mommy is, truly, most completely and utterly, useless.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Sleeping with Diana Ross

"Mama! Mama!" she cried.

The digital clock in our bedroom read 4:45 a.m.

I hurried to The Rooster's room to quiet her so she didn't wake The Mayor.

"I want you," she said with arms outstretched.

I climbed into her tiny toddler bed and rubbed her back until she fell back to sleep.

When I heard her breath rise and fall in a steady rhythm I tried to sneak back to my own bed, but she called for me again.

She left me no choice but to squeeze in next to her on the bed's crib mattress.

I fought for my share of the covers and a comfortable position.

I somehow managed to fall asleep and stayed there until K came in and whispered that breakfast was ready.

I gently nudged The Rooster.

"Breakfast is ready, sweet girl. Time to get up," I said.

She flipped onto her side, threw me a squinty look and, from out of nowhere demanded,

"Breakfast in bed!"

Next she'll be asking for a cocktail umbrella in her sippy cup and cereal service on the lanai.

Oh, the DIVA

Monday, May 12, 2008


I have this bizarre faith that when my children are sleeping they are actually hard at work growing gynormous brains.

When they sleep late in the mornings, the world seems GLORIOUS.

Freakish as it is, my children rarely sleep late on weekends.

[What is that about? I’m thinking it's a dag gam CONSPIRACY!]

Regardless, I facking HATE to wake them.

Sleep ON, my sleepy sleepers!

Alas, sometimes
The Mayor and The Rooster have to be roused from bed..

On weekdays, K’s got a train to catch and I have a standing date with the cabana boy lap lanes at the pool.

My hindquarter has lately realized it's potential as a life-saving, inflatable device and I MUST swim.

But oh, to wake them...


My mom used to come into my bedroom and ask me to get up in the mornings.

After asking me 1,000 times, she’d send in my Father.

My Dad would stand at the end of my bed and grab a handful of my covers.



Startle much?

Oh, how I hated that.

For the last few mornings I’ve been waking The Mayor by wrapping his body in my arms and kissing his little face.

One kiss on the cheek and one on the forehead…

He stretches his arms out straight and rolls over in the bed.

One kiss on the other cheek and one on the chin.

He wraps his arms around me.

Slowly he comes into wakefulness.

This is the way my Grandma, my father’s mother, would wake me when she visited.

She was a fierce, battle-ax of a woman who could (and would) kick your ass from here to next Tuesday in a game of Yahtzee, but she woke me that way every time she woke me – even when I was in high school.

Despite giving Death a noble thrashing, she died in the late nineties.

When I realized that waking The Mayor this way was her gift to him it made me smile, remembering her.