Let me see if I can use the written word to do our night justice.
Last night, I rocked Thing 2 to bed at 8:00.
Yes, I still rock him to sleep every night, regardless of what the baby sleep experts tell you to do, because do you know what? Faster than I can sneeze and wipe up the fallout, babies grow up and don’t want to be rocked any longer, so I’m totally going to take advantage of our time in the rocking chair as long as I can. It’s how I did things with the boy; he’s fifteen now and sleeps just fine without needing rocked at night.
They all turn out fine, no matter how their mamas put them to bed in the evenings.
But I digress, because the railroad tracks for my train of thought always go in all kinds of directions.
At 8:00 last night, I laid a zonked out Thing 2 in his bed. I covered him up and kissed his cheek one more time. And then Hubs and I got terribly involved in Last Man Standing on Netflix, because it’s our new sitcom, people. Every night, unless the Colorado Avalanche play a late game on TV and ruin my evening, Hubs and I watch a couple of comedies in bed on the iPad, because Netflix and Hulu are GENIUS THINGS. We’ve blasted our way through all kinds of sitcoms, from start to finish, over the last few years this way, and I don’t see any evidence that we’re going to give up the iPad-watching trend any time soon.
(So far, I think Burt and Virginia Chance, on Raising Hope, have been our favorite TV couple, because we live parallel lives with them. Hubs and I hate to admit it, but we think we’re every single bit as mature and fancy as they are.)
Since we just finished all the seasons of Community, we had to find something else, and lo! That is when we stumbled upon Last Man Standing, and we’re hooked.
I’m sure this is more than you cared to know about our TV-watching habits, but it is what it is. We have to watch sitcoms, because they’re twenty-one minutes long without commercials, and that’s what I can handle before MaMaw needs to put her teeth in a jar on the bedside and go to sleep. Plus, we tried to watch Breaking Bad and listen: I was going to need blood pressure medication, nerve pills and counseling for post traumatic stress syndrome with that show, so I had to bail out after the first three episodes.
I just could not, regardless of the fact that the rest of America has already watched all the seasons to this show.
At 10:00 last night, right in the middle of some of Tim Allen’s best one-liners, Thing 2 opened his bedroom door and marched out. He thought he had slept all night long. He thought it was morning, and he was ready for his shower and breakfast.
He wanted pears in his oatmeal.
I assured him in my very Godly, soft and calm, nighttime mama voice that it was NOT, in fact, MORNING. I tucked him back into his bed.
He got back out.
I rocked him.
He stared at me and asked if he could have toast with his oatmeal, too.
And THAT, people, is how my toddler and I came to be awake until 2:40 this morning. I’d like to say that my very Godly, soft and calm and ultra-tender, nighttime mama voice lasted until 2:40, when Thing 2 FINALLY (!!!!!) fell asleep, but that would be a lie. I may have, at one point, informed Hubs that it would be easier to work on the carnival circuit, running the Tilt-A-Whirl machine and brushing what was left of my teeth, than it would be to raise the non-sleepers that Hubs and I have bred. All I know is that Thing 2’s ability to stay up all night has been perfected so well, he’s ready to leave for college and fraternity life tomorrow.
Plus, his thighs are thick enough with muscle that he’ll be asked to carry everyone’s sofa up the front steps of the frat house.
But, in case you’re wondering, I really DO still love our preschooler today, even though I only slept from 3:00 to 6:15 this morning, and not a minute longer. I mean, really? How could I not love this face?