Wednesday, July 21, 2010

a typical night here at Chez No Sleep

For the last few weeks, my night looks something like this:

7:00 Put kids to bed.
10:00 Go to bed myself.
11:05 Four year old wants a drink of water.
11:30. Four year old claims a bug is in his bedroom. Inspection finds nothing.
11:45 Baby wakes up. Bring her to my bed to nurse for a bit.
12:15 Wake up to find myself sandwiched between baby and four year old.  Return all children to their respective beds.
12:50 Baby wakes up, cuddle her quickly back to sleep.
2 am: The party begins.  Baby wants to nurse nurse nurse. She is teething, and no teething toys will do---just Mama's boobs.
2 to 3: In between nursing, she rolls around, kicks my spleen, elbows my head, climbs the headboard, returns to the boob.
3 am: return monkey child to her crib.
3:20: go to pick up shrieking child.  Slam foot into pile of half-packed suitcases at foot of bed. May have broken foot. Short nursing session, put child back in crib.
3:23 go to pick up shrieking child, slam same foot plus my shin into footstool.  Hurl (expletive expletive expletive) footstool into corner.  Bring shrieking child back to bed.
3:40: Return child to crib. Shrieking commences.
3:41: Retrieve hurled footstool from corner, use it to climb into crib with shrieking child.  Curl up in fetal position.  Shrieking child not happy with interloper, if interloper refuses to share breasts. 
3:45: Yell sternly admonish shrieking child to go to sleep. Because, you know, in my experience, babies react really well to being yelled at. 
3:46: Baby snuggles head into my neck and then gives four sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on my mouth.
3:47: Feel like a jerk for yelling at sternly admonishing a baby.
4 am Go back to my own bed.
4:01: More shrieking.  Really really loud shrieking.
4:02: The Mister attempts to give baby a bottle.
4:03: Baby hurls bottle.  This is not boobs, buddy, get with the program.
4:06: Relent. Give baby (kind of sore) boobs.  For forty-five minutes.
5 am. Place (still-awake!) child back in crib. Shrieking.
5:05. The Mister gets up for the day. Takes the shrieking child into the playroom.  I fall asleep.
6:15: Wake with a massive headache and a bad attitude. 

today is Greg's last day of summer camp, and last day at his old preschool.  We made cupcakes:


We leave for Italy tomorrow. 
I am not finished packing.
The four year old does not want to go to Italy. The four year old is somewhat change-averse.  He says "I do not want to go to Italy! I am only four and a half, you know!"
Um, ok, well, you'll be with us, and we will meet Papa's grandma.
"I'm not going to like her. I'll just stay here at home with my toys. You go and let me know how it went." 
Sorry, kiddo, that's not how things work around here.

While I don't really consider international travel with 3 kids under 5 to be a "vacation", I will admit I am really looking forward to the food.  I married into a family of good cooks.  Traveling with them generally means that I never have to cook a meal, and they make excellent, excellent food. 

Unlike the dinner I scorched last night:

That would be the blackened remains of ribs and hotdogs.  We at them, even though they flaked apart in our hands, because there was nothing else in the fridge to make since we are leaving for 10 days.  The taste of ash goes well with garlic buttered green beans, if you were wondering. 

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