Monday, June 13, 2011

She who offers ice cream but not a consistent bedtime shall be damned to evening battles

The boys were coloring with markers yesterday afternoon, and Blake did some pretty impressive drawings, including one which started off as Mickey Mouse and turned into Blake and Matt (Blake is very rotund, Matt very tall and thin...?). Noah went to nursery looking like the bride at an Indian wedding who'd had her hands painted in henna, such was the indelible mess he made on his palms and fingers with green magic marker.

Tonight Matt and I both vowed that tomorrow night was going to be a different story in terms of bedtime 'round these parts. Blake has literally not been falling asleep until about 10:00 pm, which is a minor challenge to the aim of giving either Matt or me a chance of a life beyond the activities which are, I believe, called "bathtime" in other people's homes (in our house it's the thing that makes Mommy and/or Daddy shout at small people for not listening and not understanding that, just like the night before, a small person needs to take a bath or at least a shower so as to get clean enough for the activity that follows after, again just like the night before, which is called "bedtime".) Things are a real struggle these days! Tonight was extra super fun because Noah threw up his bedtime bottle all over me and all over his rug, and then wouldn't go to sleep for about an hour afterwards. I never did manage to get a shower in, so I consequently still smell like puky formula - good good times!

I'm sure tomorrow will be better, and if Facebook is any indication, other parents out there are struggling with the years beyond the age of 2, which I think is understandable. The "two's" come with such big hype about how awful they're going to be (think "Terrible Two's") and then nobody mentions that 3 can be pretty hellish as well. Apparently 4 may be as bad or worse! My theory is that we all get too exhausted and fatigued to provide the hyperbole and dialogue about the terrors our children are being, and maybe by the time they're 5 the shock will have worn off, and by that time the kids will have developed a bit more of the prefrontal cortex and not make us want to constantly tear our - now grey, natch - hair out. Then we'll say with a kind of glazed look in our eyes, "Oh, was that a bad age, really?!"

When they're not making me crazy, the boys can usually be found in the back garden, being as sweet as the ice cream their mama is giving them in exchange for a few minutes of peace at the end of a long day. There are not many of Blake because he tends to be quite focused on his ice cream and prefers a look of sulking concentration to Noah's generally gleeful looks. Enjoy!
Ice cream

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