The time has come. I’m all about arbitrary deadlines. It’s even more fun when I’m the one who gets to set them. And so I did. I issued Squish an eviction notice. He has been my roommate for over three years now, and it’s time for both of us to move on, so I set the date. I announced to the family that by Easter, Squish would be full-time resident in his brother’s room. The boys were thrilled.
Since sleeping in strange quarters can be a little discombobulating, I thought it might be easier to have a test-run, and so we did. Friday night. And now I sit at my computer feeling like I have been hit by a truck and wishing there was a way to mainline caffeine.
Did he stay in his new bed? Yes. Was he quiet? Sure. Did he go to sleep easily? Not so much. He was still awake at 10pm. Did he wake at 5:45am all raucous and ready to go? Um, yeah.
A normal person would put him back in his regular bed for a few days to allow us all to recover before attempting again. So of course, I didn’t do that. Blame sleep-deprived stupidity if you want (I do), but Squish has now taken up permanent residence in the bottom bunk in his brother’s room. You know why? The time change.
Daylight Saving Time was a great idea in an agrarian culture, allowing farmers to take advantage of natural light. And don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of gaining an extra hour of sleep in the fall, but moving the clock ahead in the spring wrecks my life for weeks. Kids don’t understand going to bed while the sun is still shining. It takes ages for everyone to adjust. It was that very thought that spurred the decision to launch him for good.
I can either spend two weeks adjusting to new bedtimes, and then mess him up all over again with a move, or I can just do it all at once. I am ripping off the band-aid, friends. If I have to be miserable for awhile, at least there will be a big-ole light at the end of the tunnel.
My plan was simple. Keep the kid awake all day, run him around until he is exhausted, and then he’ll be simply begging to go to sleep early. So simple. Never confuse simple with easy. I chickened out yesterday at noon when he was weeping over a chicken nugget he never had and put him down for a nap. As a result, he didn’t go to sleep until after 10pm again. And lost an hour of sleep to boot.
So today, he is wrecked, and we are determined. We are tag-teaming with the little critter so that neither of us loses our minds completely. Although my husband seems to have disappeared altogether now that I think of it. We just have a couple of hours left to go until we can send him to dreamland. We can do it.
For your reading pleasure, I share with you the discussions that have led to meltdowns today.
Whether or not he may knock his teeth out. To his credit, he did attempt a compromise by asking “Maybe I can knock my teeth out another day? Pwease?” Bonus points for good manners.
A sudden conviction that he is broken. And can only be fixed with duct tape.
Whether or not his toy tractor will, indeed, cut grass.
The social acceptability of going to church naked. Or in swim trunks.
The proper age at which a child may walk to the playground by himself. Here’s a hint. It’s not three.
The inability visit to the public library for a new Bob the Builder DVD. Although I understand. I love the library, myself.
His lack of attendance at group therapy. Eavesdropping on grownup discussions will only leave you disappointed, little friends.
The inedibility of Mercer Mayer books. And my refusal to eat one myself. I am unreasonable.
We are hanging on by our teeth, but in a few weeks, life is going to be GREAT! I won’t have any excuse for not folding laundry at night anymore. Oh, wait…