Definitions: Nap Time & Quiet Time

Dear Boys,

Clearly you need some clarification about what "nap time" and "quiet time" mean.  I know this because everything you are doing is the exact opposite of what you are supposed to be doing.

Let me elucidate.

"Nap time" means sleeping.  It does not mean jumping, singing, banging blocks together, faux crying or walking out of the room every 5 minutes to tell me you love me.  I love you, too, but I will feel that love much more heartily if you STAY IN YOUR ROOM.  "Sleeping" means you lie down on your bed and you close your eyes and you stay there for an extended period of time.  You do not sing, you do not play with your toys, you do not throw books all over the floor and "ice skate" on them.  Sleeping requires stillness, so when you get up after 30 seconds and tell me you can't sleep, THAT is why you can't sleep.  STOP. MOVING.

If you truly, actually, sincerely try to sleep (remember: that means NOT MOVING) and cannot fall asleep, then it is still quiet time.  Does that mean you should jump on your bed and make siren sounds?  No, it does not.  Does it mean you should pretend to have to pee or poop (or both!) once every 15 minutes and inform me of your attempts?  No, it does not.  Does that mean you should come out of your room repeatedly and ask for new toys?  NO. IT. DOES. NOT.

"Quiet time" means that you must be quiet.  As in, not noisy.  As in, a lack of sound.  As in, SSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  Stop yelling, stop singing loudly, stop practicing gymnastics on  your bed.  Just quietly read your books, or quietly play with the toys in your room.  Twiddle your thumbs.  I don't actually care.  Just do it quietly.  That is all I ask.

Quiet time is not the time to decide that you HAVE to have the giraffe you gave to your brother a year ago.  I'm sorry you miss him.  It's been a year.  It's time to move on.

Quiet time is not the time to decide that, in spite of the mass quantities of milk and water you downed at lunchtime, you are parched.  Because you are not.  So quit it.

Quiet time is the time for quiet.  Not necessarily because you need it- although, trust me, you do- but because without a brief moment of quiet in an otherwise "Mom, mommy, mom, MOOOOOM!" filled day, I will lose my mind.  That's right, sweetie, this isn't about you.

Mommy needs this time to rebuild the energy it takes to feed and wipe and chase and feed and calm and wipe and entertain and wash and help two boys under five.  You are tiny energy vampires, and without the time to recharge, I can't play trucks with you the way you like.  If I don't have quiet time to eat my own lunch at 2pm, I don't eat and then I am cranky.  If I don't have nap time to load the dishwasher and answer emails and attempt to breathe for 30 seconds, I have a hard time keeping my cool when you ignore my instructions for the seven bazillionth time.

Mommy needs nap time- or at least quiet time- so that I can be a better Mommy.  It will help us all, my little squishies.  So, please.  Stay in your room.  Stop coming out and asking asinine questions.  Stop flying around your room like a broken toy airplane.  Stop pretending to cry.  Stop making those ear-splitting noises.  Just. Stay. Quiet.  Please.  And thank you.

All my love,
xoxo Mama


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p.s. If you missed my latest post over at Rattle and Pen, you can read it here.

Department of Redundancy Department

I spend all day every day saying the same things over and over and over.

"Stop running."
"Quiet feet."
"No jumping off of the furniture."
"No screaming."
"No bashing."
"No hitting."
"Stop taking your brother's toys."
"No pushing."
"No kicking."
"No bonking."
"No screaming."
"Flush the toilet."
"Use your words."
"STOP RUNNING."

I am losing my mind, people.  We are living in an apartment with a cranky downstairs neighbor, and my kids just have to alter their behavior.  It's not fair, but they have to.  They just do.  But they will not.  AND I AM GOING FUCKING CRAZY.  I am repeating myself so often that I'm annoying even myself, and I'm starting to feel like the teacher in Charlie Brown cartoons.  Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

I can't.  I cannot repeat myself anymore.  They're not listening and I've said everything so many times that it's beyond redundant.  It's too much.  It's too much for them to listen to, it's too much for me, it's too much for everyone.  We're all gonna end up in the loony bin if this continues.

So.  We're trying something new.  We're going to try a book that a number of people have recommended and hope like hell that it does the trick.  And if it does work, I will sing the name of said book loud and clear for all to hear.  

It's time.  We all need to shut the hell up and get along.  Or else... they're coming to take me away, ha ha!

Where's My Village & More Stuff They Say

I have a new post up at Rattle & Pen about the disappearing "village" in modern parenting.  Where's my village, yo?  Go check it out here.


But while you're here!!  Here's some more adorableness from the mouths of my little lunatics.  They're nutballs, but I love 'em.

Big One:
"That's my spirit!" meaning, that's the spirit.

Holding an improvised vacuum extension limbo pole over my head:
"Mommy!  Let's lahmbo!"
"You mean limbo?"
"Yeah!  Now it's you're turn to mambo!"

"up-spied-down" = upside down
"up-spied-up" = right side up

"Lightning the Queen" = Lightning McQueen (from Cars)

Little One:
"Meez" or "pweez" = please
"brudder" = brother
"wap" = lap
"tincrumbers" or "kidcumbers" = cucumbers
"Fprinkles" (aka: sprinkles) = goosebumps
"fwaht-fwahts" = flip flops
"swars" = stars
"shit" = sit OR chips, so he very often says things like, "Daddy shit.  Brudder shit.  Shit, meez!" or "Yummy shits.  Eat shits.  More shits, pweez."  I love it so hard.

Words, Words, Words

I love listening to a kid who's learning to talk.  So many awesome sounds and attempts and delightfully butchered words.  I still grin when the big one asks for "opameal with ray-rays" (oatmeal with raisins).

The Little One, who's been slow to talk and just turned two, is finally showing an interest.  He tries new words every day and even strings together little sentences.  He ran around saying, "Fyash-yite" and beaming for a full day after he figured that one out.  It's adorable.  And thank god, because all that evil monkey screeching really gets on my nerves.

Here are a few recent gems from the mouths of my babes.  Now you can translate.  You're welcome.

Big One-isms:

Flumb = Thumb

proburbly = properly


Little One-isms:

Bunner nunner = belly button

Perrrr = Pear

Buck me! = buckle me

Fock tuck!= box truck

Shuree = scary

Shishy = fishy

Pull = apple

bow = rainbow

star/yite = light

Waterrr = any beverage of any kind (but usually referring to milk)

Hock = sock

Bootch = boots

Hfmell = smell

fplass = splash

shooewk = scoop

mees = please