Interrupted Sleep

Caroline has been a great sleeper since she was born. She's almost three months old and, pretty reliably, will sleep a 5-6 hour stretch every night.

Yes, yes, I know. I'm spoiled by her. That is not the point of this post.

Last night Caroline went to bed a little later than usual. I laid her in her crib around 10 p.m. I went to bed shortly after.

Around 4 a.m. Elisabeth walked into my room. "Mom," she said, "Hank's scared." Elisabeth sounded tired. And annoyed.

I walked into the room Hank and Elisabeth share and, sure enough, there was Hank buried under his covers, eyes open wide, looking like he had just had a bad dream.

The Hank-had-a bad-dream-routine goes like this. Hank wakes up, scared and crying. Elisabeth is woken and is sent to retrieve a parent. Whichever parent wakes up first stumbles into Hank's room, asks him if he had a bad dream and then, too tired to negotiate, sighs in surrender and invites Hank to spend the rest of the night with them.

So, there I am at 4 a.m., going through the motions when I realize how warped this whole scene is. First, my baby-- my not even three-month-old baby!-- is still fast asleep in her crib in her room. Secondly, my four-year-old little girl is sent into the dark night to search for help for her older brother!

But I went through the routine. I invited Hank into bed, grumbling inside my head about how I'd like just one solid night of sleep and if the baby wasn't going to wake me my seven-year-old son sure ought not to.

Hank and I woke at 7 a.m. this morning. And you know what else? That's when Caroline woke up! Her first night of an honest-to-goodness, sleeps through a whole night sleep and that night it interrupted by Hank.

You know what though? I was less annoyed when he told me why he was scared. In his dream there was a tornado and we all ran away from it but, once we were away, Hank realized we had forgotten Caroline and he wanted to brave the tornado to go back and get her.

Now, wasn't that dream worth being woken for?

Back to Bed

Last night Joe and I took all three kids to a pool party that started at 8:30 p.m. Our kids are pretty flexible, bedtime-wise, and neither Joe or I really thought twice about it. The kids played and swam with friends until it was time to leave (around 10:30 p.m.) and went immediately to bed when we got home. At no time in the evening did I have second thoughts about going, or about taking the kids. They were well-behaved all evening, and all five of us had a wonderfully fun time.

But this morning? Oh. My. Goodness. All three kids slept in and yet still, the shrieking! the fighting! the whining! Ugh. We're suffering from a major pool party hangover here, folks.

Big Storms

The other night we were treated to some very loud, very wet thunderstorms. What happens when booming thunder cracks overheard so loudly that it shakes the house? Joe and I end up with a couple extra kids in bed with us.

Covered Wagon in the Dining Room

Yesterday morning just after the big kids got up they felt inspired to make our dining room table into the Ingalls' covered wagon and pretend they were traveling across the prairie. I tried my best to ignore the heap of blankets, pillows, books and other necessary items and had school in the living room, trying my best to ignore the disaster behind me. The adventure culminated with Madeleine and Hank sleeping in their covered wagon last night (i.e. under the dining room table). When they woke this morning both raved at how fun and comfortable it was. They're already planning an encore sometime soon with Elisabeth, who was meant to be included, but fell asleep by accident just after supper time.

Next time I'll take a picture; the whole scene was pretty elaborate.

Sniff, Snort

Last night Hank finagled his way into our bed.  Well, finagled might be overstating a bit.  It's possible his sucker of a mom invited him in since the girls were with Grandfather and Diana.  And by possible I mean likely, but really, how he got there is irrelevant.

OK, so Hank is sleeping with us.  But at 12:30 a.m. he wasn't actually sleeping.  He was wide, wide awake sniffing and snorting.

 

Sniff, sniff.  Then a readjusting of position.  Covers move.  More snot sucking (hey, I know it's a gross visual-- or audio reminder-- whatever-- but it was gross, OK?). More moving.  More rolling.  More sniffing.

Hank, mumbles a tired Superdad, use a Kleexex for Pete's sake!

Sniff, sniff, snort, snort.  Roll over, kick off the covers.

Hank, in a loud whisper, Dad!  Can you get me a Kleenex?

A sigh from Superdad.  Cate, whispers Superdad (why are we all whispering since we're all awake?!), do you have any Kleenex?

From me a grunt.  Joe takes it to mean no and trudges off, tiredly, to the bathroom.  He gets back.  There's more sniffing, sucking and some occasional blowing. Hank, just blow!  whispers Superdad.

Everyone-- and by everyone I mean those actually participating in the midnight Kleenex madness, like Hank and Joe-- lies back down.

Sniff, sniff!  Snort, sniff!  The pillow is readjusted.  Sniff, snort!

Hank, I swear, you're like an eighty-year-old man, grumbles Joe.  I start to giggle.  

Sniff, sniff, snort, sniff!

Now I'm really laughing.  Loudly.

Seriously, Hank, says Joe, look at you.  You can't lie still, you can't stop making all these personal noises and you're lying there with navy blue socks on, for Pete's sake!

Now I'm laughing so hard I'm crying.  Hank is starting to wonder why.

Sniff, snort, sniff!

Now Joe is laughing.  What's so funny? demands Hank.  He's annoyed now.  SNIFF!  SNORT!

I think I fell back to sleep while doubled over in hysterics.  My goodness, each day this kid kills me just a little bit more.  

My New Roommate

Naturally now that Elisabeth has finally started spending entire nights in her own crib, in her own bedroom, Madeleine has decided to begin expressing dissatisfaction with her current sleeping arrangements and her manner has been quite vociferous in suggesting she ought sleep in our room. You know, in that queen size bed that was suddenly, upon Elisabeth's departure, feeling so luxuriously large and comfortable (and this is only a queen size bed!).

I keep saying no. No, no, no. I want my space. I want to sleep. For the love of all that is good in this world, I just want eight hours of uninterrupted sleep for at least two or three nights in a row. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently.

Last night Madeleine strategically circumvented me and asked Superdad, who would, in a just world, hereafter be known as SuckerDad. He didn't even pause to think before he said yes. Madeleine proudly ran up to me, secure in her victory, and exclaimed, "Guess what Mom! I get to sleep in YOUR bed tonight!" Her eyes were shining with excitement. Mine glazed over.

"Oh good!" I said through gritted teeth while thinking, "I am going to kill Superdad"

This post should lend understanding into these burning questions, which I'm sure have tormented all of my readers:

1) Why I have such a complete and total love affair with all things caffeine, especially coffee and

2) Why, more often than not, I appear a bit imbalanced.

Now you know. It's sleep deprevation.

Sweet Dreams, Little Ones

After bedtime stories, prayers and hugs and kisses Madeleine abandoned her upper bunk and squeezed in with Hank in his lower bunk. They stayed like this the whole of the night: