Sleep: the Final Frontier

We fogeys (a.k.a. pretty much anyone over 25) have vastly different priorities than them young'uns.

So, for example, we appreciate:
-spinach
-road trips
-sleep

This last is particularly underrated by the ankle-biter gang, as I discovered over the course of the last 24 hours.

I assumed myself more or less in the clear once we completed the infant-based night schedule. I cheerfully accepted the maximum 6-hour nights dictated by the twin demands of Husband/Mama Quality Time and freakishly early school bus pickups (we were lucky to pull the last stop on the route, which is 7:12 am).

While I held out some vague hope of the occasional nap, I have developed the (instantaneous) ability to squeeze 5 winks out of an episode of Berenstain Bears. Or, just hypothetically speaking, watch my boys play with their cars on the dining room floor and fall asleep beside my breakfast plate unexpectedly.

Fast-forward back to recent events...

Last night, Tweenie and Rascal decided they wanted a sleepover. I didn't care one way or another; they weren't going to sleep on their own anyway after nearly an hour of shenanigans. They both solemnly promised to go to sleep instantly (those were my exact instructions) and not be heard from until the next morning.

I wasn't even 10 steps out of the door when I heard a rasping sound from my boy. With a sigh of resignation, I turned back to deliver the threatened consequences but paused at the door when Tweenie said,

"What are you doing?"

"I seeping. See? Zzzzzzzzzzzz."

"Be quiet!"

"I seeping. Shhht! Mama be angey."

More snores.

"Maaaaaaaa!"

Of course I had to separate them after all, but at least they didn't want to share a bed after that.

After preschool today, Rascal wanted to play with Kye. Unfortunately, this was during the planned naptime. Rascal was not impressed. He stomped outside and sulked. I ignored it and brought Kye up to bed, then started on some chores.

Eventually I heard Rascal come back in and head for his stack of cars. I didn't check on him right away and this was just the opening he needed. From Kye's bedroom upstairs, I heard Rascal's characteristic singsong:

"'Ake up, Kye! You come play me."

I zoomed up the stairs.

"Come, Kye! We play now, okee?"

I discovered them both sitting in the crib, proud of themselves. I scowled, banished Rascal, and tucked Kye back in. He howled.

Later, I attempted to sneak a catnap while Rascal watched TV and ate soda crackers.

"Mama, 'ake up! Noooooo seeping, okee?" Crumby fingers jabbed my eyelids open before they could crack voluntarily. I yelped as salty bits burned in my eyes.

"Sowwy, mama! Is you hurtid? Nooooooo seeping, okee?"

Message received loud and clear. I went upstairs and woke Kye up myself.