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The guys don’t want to sleep, I’m dying to. Guess who wins

Submitted by on Tuesday, 22 July 2008 No Comment

“I just googled “”strait jacket”" and children and was disappointed. I’d hoped to find a retailer on amazon.com. Instead, I came up with stories about an overly medicated society.

Too bad. I could use a set right about now, sizes smaller and smaller. Maybe in a Thomas pattern for Little Guy and Batman for his brother.

Aw, forget it. Child Protective Services probably would frown on use of restraints to keep your kids in bed. (If you’re reading, CPS, I’m not serious. It’s humor — get it?)

It wouldn’t work anyway. Big Guy, at least, is as creative as he is determined. And then he’d help his brother get out just to show me.

The problem of late has been his brother, and it’s like deja vu all over again. Actually, it’s not deja vu if it really happened. So let’s call this a recurrence of my nighttime nightmare.

Set the clock back exactly two years and one day, when Big Guy delayed bedtime three hours the night before his third birthday. He used water torture, asking for repeated drinks. Which, of course, led to the “”I gotta potty”" play. He then switched to sweet and cuddly — one of my sister’s was visiting, so he thought he had a new mark. Finally, it was exhausted tears — his and mine, as I recall — before he gave it up.

Little Guy isn’t nearly as determined, usually giving up after a half hour or so. Still, 30 minutes night in, night out is wearing. Especially when you’re tired. And battle-fatigued from refereeing all evening. And preoccupied with the million things you have to do before hitting the sack.

I’d hoped the problem would solve itself once Big Guy started kindergarten. His new schedule meant an extra hour of sleep for the guys so they could awaken bright-eyed and bushy-tailed even if they stayed awake until 9, which is how late they’d succeeded in pushing the “”official”" bedtime.

Foolish, foolish woman!

Somehow, they’ve managed to extend the unofficial bedtime a half hour. An hour on really bad nights.

To make it worse, they plot against me even in their dreams, subliminally waiting for my light to go out so they can start creeping around. This morning, I woke up with Night Stalker Little Guy in my bed and Big Guy sacked out in the hall between their room and mine, too exhausted to make it to the promised land.

“”It’s just a phase, right? It can’t last much longer. Can it?”"

That’s what I wrote in January. Dear God.

And it has gone through phases since then. Now is a particularly bad one, keyed up as they are from the back-to-back birthdays and the schedule shift that came with Big Guy’s kindergarten matriculation. Plus it’s summer, and that’s always brought about a seasonal sleep problem for Big Guy.

Plus Mommy remains a big fat wimp who issues way too many warnings in hopes someone will decide to listen before I have to declare martial law and separate them.

So I guess as long as I remain a wimp, I’ll continue to suffer. Because medical experts frown on the use of Benadryl as a pediatric sleep aid.

If you’re reading, CPS, I’m not serious. It’s humor — get it?

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.”

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