Mommy Sleep Training

Early to bed and early to rise, is the way to be healthy, wealthy and wise. -English Proverb

I sometimes feel that the best possible time to clean my house is late at night. The girls are safely tucked in bed. Greg is busy. I have the time to do it and do it well.

But I never do.

Because that is when I check email or facebook and maybe stay up for Craig Ferguson (whom I adore). I often read a book into the wee hours.

But I have decided that I simply cannot persist in staying up so late. I fear it is detrimental to our entire household, as groggy, cranky mommies are generally useless and unproductive. I am therefore resolving to go to bed earlier each night in order to rise earlier each lovely morn.

I will become an efficient and cheerful housekeeping queen.

Yes. Right.

Starting tomorrow.


Strange things have been happening around here. Like the fact that my "up with sunshine" firstborn has been sleeping in to a staggering 10:30 am.

Shocking!

(Incidentally, I do not recommend painting an eastern facing nursery a spring green, as the vivid rising sun will literally cause the room to glow with supernatural fervor, rendering it impossible to lull a toddler back to sleep).

Until the last month or so, I have been accustomed to hauling my sluggish self out of bed no later than 7:30, when I can no longer ignore a plastic sippy cups repeated blows to my noggin.

But now BOTH girls are sleeping late. And I am afraid I have allowed myself the luxury of joining them.

Yes, even as dishes sit unwashed in the sink or laundry unfolded in the basket, I slumber.

I always imagined that if someday I was blessed with two late risers, I would be up enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning with my coffee and my laptop, maybe watch the news. I thought I might fit in a Bible study or devotional. I would sit in a rocking chair. I would cuddle up in a fluffy robe. I would have a cat purring in my lap.

But we don't have a cat and I don't own a bathrobe. What I do have is a very dysfunctional relationship with my alarm clock. Each morning I beat it into silence and continue to sleep until Sophie's high pitched gibberish is broadcast over the monitor.

I always request that Greg make sure I am up before he leaves for work. His reply is always the same.

"No."

He says he would prefer that his wife not yell at him each morning before he goes to work. Apparently, I am a bit difficult to rouse from sleep.

And also irritable. Very irritable.

This is something I must work on.

And so my questions to the busy stay home mamas are as follows: Are you an early riser or a night owl? How do you manage to get yourself up when you don't technically have to be anywhere specific? When do you fit in your "me" time? Please share! I love a discussion.

Did you know...

That daddies give the best horsey rides?

You probably did.

But did you also know that they don’t really like to be photographed while doing so?

Do you know what happens when said photograph finds its way to this blog?

Hmmm.

I don’t either.

Did you know…

That this fifteen month old will find a way to climb and conquer every major appliance and/or item of furniture in the house?

That the complex mysteries of the dishwasher are a bountiful source of fascination?

And also mischief.

Did you know...

That when you walk into the kitchen to find your fifteen month old sitting complacently on the counter top bar all by herself you will, in fact, suffer a small stroke?

I didn’t. But I do now.

Did you know…

That the Olivia books by Ian Falconer are actually NOT based upon my 2 ½ year old daughter?

Well, they aren’t. But I can see where there might have been some confusion.

Because my daughter is also very good at wearing people out.

And avoiding naps.

And placing paint in places it should not go.

Did you know…

That a 2 ½ year old is perfectly capable of strutting (yep, strutting) in her mother’s three inch spike heeled boots?

And might I add, she is more skilled at walking in those boots than her mother ever was.

I know all about this girl and her shoe obsession.

I also know that while I was watching Pretty Woman, so was she.

And finally…

Do you really, truly know what it is to gaze upon the face of sweetness?

Take a look.

You do now.

Ch-Ch-Ch- Changes!

A few of the blips on our radar lately...

JOBS! Husband has one but needs a new one. I don’t have one, but need to get one. Along with the rest of the transportation logistics industry, Greg has undergone a 20% pay cut.

It’s rough out there.

So…he is looking for new employment and so am I. I really just want part time, but I can’t seem to find anything. At the very least, I am probably going to start cleaning houses a couple of days a week to bring in some money.

If I seem upbeat about this..well…I’m not.

I’m seriously stressed out.

The pickens are slim as far as available jobs. I have had no luck finding part time employment, which means I may have to get a full time job and frankly I have no desire to leave my kids full time (yet) and I don’t have a clue as to who would be able to keep them.

If Greg can’t find a better job soon, Big Decisions will have to be made. The difficult kind that keep you up at night.

Mixed into this whole job search issue is the question of whether or not I should go back to school now. I would have liked to go back this fall but it appears I have missed the FAFSA deadline. So depending upon how all that turns out, I will definitely be going back soon (maybe spring?). I have been debating what to do with my life when my SAHM days end, which may be sooner than I thought.

My first choice was Art Education, but that will require a minimum of three years (full time) and I would basically need to start from scratch. My Art History minor will not be as much help as I had hoped, as I still need all of the education requirements and several studio classes.

So that brings me to English Education. With my BA in English, I lack only the Education credits, which I should hopefully be able to knock out quickly. Reading Billy Budd essays written by surly teenagers will not be quite as much fun as finger painting with elementary kids, but I can live with it.

And speaking of kids…

They are wearing me out!

In retrospect, I can say that it was a relatively easy transition from one baby to two, after the initial shock dissipated. But those two babies have now graduated to two toddlers and this has rocked the boat a bit.

Gone are the days of long peaceful naps. Now only Sophie will nap so I do not get the break I so depended upon. Rylie is a live wire at all times of day and napping is simply not in the cards for her, try as I might to stack the deck.

This threw me off our routine for a while and our house was utter chaos.

It was a bad time to be Randi’s Husband or Randi’s Child.

Seriously.

But we are back on track and I am learning to accept the new normal. Sharing space with two rambunctious, ever curious, stubborn, highly emotional little people is the life I now live. One takes a nap and one chills out with some toons in lieu of a nap (if I’m lucky).

(Don't judge me.)

By the way, I have a question for moms of toddlers.

Someone please tell me that it is perfectly normal for a 2 ½ year old to be so …ahem…well…terrible?

Awful?

Insufferable?

(Again, don't judge me.)

I feel like I am living with an unmedicated manic depressive. She’s pretty intense. In fact, I may have a promising future as hostage negotiator by the time she is five, as I have become pretty good at talking down irrational and volatile personalities.

Are they all this bad? Are just girls this bad? Or is just (gulp) my girl this bad?

Thoughts?

Total ECLIPSE of the Heart

I saw Eclipse. And I saw it at midnight.

Terribly blurry picture (sorry!). Here we sat for two hours waiting on movie.

I promise I do not consider myself a Twi-Hard, in spite of the title of this post, which I suspect may be an embarrassing mistake.

However, I was accompanied by some die hard Twi-Hards.

Paula and Christy pose with very unTwilight like vampire.

Paula stocked her mini van with Twilight music and declared that she needed to focus. Christy wore a black Edward tee and scurried to gather abandoned collector's cups. Amber issued loud catcalls inspired by the shirtless Jacob and his glistening abs. Amanda, eight months pregnant, ranted against Bella (and also trapped gas pain, but that was completely understandable). Andrea had just finished the book and compared every detail. And then me. I wanted to see the movie but would have waited till DVD release. I read the books a year or two ago and I had forgotten most of it. But I really wanted a girls night out.

Amber with same creepy guy. We are not sure whether or not he was employed by Rave.

I am not sure if I exhibited any Twi-Hard characteristics besides the fact that I smuggled Starbucks into the theater and waited for two hours to see a midnight showing.

Yes, am an adult woman and I like Twilight. I like it for what it is, pure escapist fiction with a healthy dose of melodramatic teenage angst. As an English major, I would lose all credibility if I did not also add that these books are rather poorly written. But I have to give them props. They are a phenomenon and poorly written or not, the intense relationship between heroine and vampire is addictive.

I read the first book in January of 2008, two months after my first baby was born. I had been utterly unable to read anything but Dr. Sears and breastfeeding books, which I literally obsessed over. Stephanie Meyer's awkward Bella and smoldering Edward drew me right in, and for a few hours (I read the first book in one day) I could be just me, not an overwhelmed new mommy. I anxiously awaited the releases of the next books and after I completed them I turned around and read them again. It was something to look forward to amidst night feedings and diaper changes. I was the type of new mom who had more separation anxiety than my baby, popped a boob in her mouth every time she whimpered, and was afraid to put her in a crib. Reading Twilight might have been the only thing I did for myself in the entire first year of motherhood.

So I had fun seeing Eclipse. I'd do it again.

Father's Day

My husband is an incredible father.

He changes diapers. Even the icky (and tricky) meconium newborn poops. In fact, he was the executor of each very first diaper change (while I giggled wearily from the hospital bed).

He gets up with crying babies in the middle of the night. Not all of the time, but enough to make a huge difference for a sleep deprived mama.

On weekends he really steps up his game. Bath time, breakfast time, outdoor play time. You name it, he can do it.

He can and often does fly solo. That is, he is home taking care of the girls without me so that I can have my girls’ night or book club, or whatever.

He knows how to hold a newborn. Every woman loves to see her man cradling their infant.

He reads to the girls almost every night. Girly books, like Disney Princesses. He read A.A. Milne’s Hundred Acre Wood to my pregnant belly.

He can soothe a crying baby to sleep as well as I can. In fact, he is doing so right now as I type this.

Every day he works a job that he doesn’t like in order to support a family that he loves.

He can calm his irate toddler. He can be firm and he can be gentle. And his patience can occasionally stretch much farther than mine.

He can calm his irate wife. Sometimes.

He is the first to sacrifice and the last to complain.

He will condescend to sip tea with Minnie Mouse, Care Bear, and Curious George. He does indeed sit down in a tiny pink chair at a tiny pink table and serve all sorts of pretend delicacies in tiny plastic dishes. But don’t tell him I told you.

He puts up with much crying, fit throwing, and attitude. And the kids can be pretty bad, too.

He is one lone male in a house full of females. God help him.

When we learned the gender of our first born, he cried happy tears. He so wanted a girl. Now he has two.

He can’t make their outfits match to save his life, but he can get them dressed.

He doesn’t prepare them vegetables, but he can get them fed.

But most of all, my husband adores his little girls.

And they know it.

Fess Ups and Mess Ups

I may or may not be guilty of serving my toddler microwave popcorn for lunch, which may or may not have been coated in “movie butter.” I did this because I preferred to spend exactly one minute thirty seconds heating that popcorn, which will be completely devoured, rather than taking thirty minutes to meticulously prepare her usual well balanced lunch, of which she will take maybe two bites.


This same toddler is no longer taking naps, though I am beginning to suspect that she might could If I would only take the time and the effort to bring them back into our routine. But there will be major conflict in convincing her of this (think WW3) and I am suddenly feeling very Switzerlandish. So despite the fact that she is tired and cranky all afternoon and I am now a desperately crazed mother without a break from a tyrannical toddler, naptime still isn’t happening.

I just don’t have the fight in me.

Does this reflect a new, more mature development in my parenting or am I simply copping out of my responsibilities?

Discuss amongst yourselves.


Several expletives were in fact muttered by yours truly while trying to disengage a bubble blowing octopus from its ridiculously confining package. It was actually screwed into plastic discs that were in turn screwed to the cardboard. Seriously, I need a freakin’ screwdriver to free a one pound plastic toddler toy from its cardboard box? It appears that toy manufacturers may be losing perspective.

It‘s not a hand gun.

It is a purple. plastic. octopus.

It blows bubbles.


Ahem…Just how much tv is too much tv? Because it is really, really hot outside.


I fear my toddler may be a brat. Really. I have been praying about this and I’m worried. How much bad behavior can logically be blamed upon terrible twos? And isn’t “strong willed” just a euphemism for “very unpleasant child?”


And last, but certainly not least, I can now officially announce that the proverbial rose colored glasses of motherhood have been removed.

And stomped into a fine pink powder.

As if you couldn’t tell.



It has been a rough month in the Webb household. It seems that our two year old has upped the ante on the "terrible." Please feel free to stand upon your soapbox and give me what for.

Or contribute your own confessions.