I have had a long weekend. I mean, yeah, it’s Labor Day and all, so obviously I’ve had a long weekend. What I mean is that I would give my left arm for a nap right now. Since Friday, my work has been holding its biggest fundraiser of the year, a three-day music festival all over Memphis. While my duties at the festival aren’t nearly as substantial as some others – I spent the better part of Sunday afternoon blowing up 50 promotional beach balls – I’m still tired.
This morning, I posted a Labor Day message to my work’s Facebook page wishing all of our fans a Happy Memorial Day.
As per the usual, I am blaming my pretty much constant exhaustion and apparent inability to decipher the bookends of summer from one another on my child and her inability to appreciate the glories of sleep. On Saturday and Sunday morning, she came into my bedroom at 6:30 in the morning to notify me (at full, angry volume) that she was
b. mad that I was not awake;
c. in need of food. NOW.
After being yelled at for what felt like 35 minutes, B and I got up and nourished the young and drank approximately five gallons of coffee apiece.
When you are a parent, it is the small things that matter. Your child giving you an unexpected hug. The teacher telling you that she participated well during circle time. Getting through a bath without having a bucket of water intentionally dumped on your lap.
So it is with naps. Naps are, arguably, the most important hour of your day. In the remarkably short window of one to two hours, you insure that your child will behave like a human for the remainder of the day. When she nails her naps, she feels better and has even told you so when she was in a (rare) good mood. In our home, we refer to those moods as “seeing a unicorn;” ie, “Seen any unicorns today?” “Alas, no, nary a one.”
Yet, for reasons that I cannot even begin to comprehend, three-year-old children are acutely allergic to sleeping. This afternoon for
Memorial Labor Day, we are going to Memphis’ new Bass Pro Shop with my brother for his birthday*. Cee is really excited about this, but I told her we couldn’t go until she took a nap.
*No, it really is his birthday. I’m not confused about that one.
“I guess I don’t want to have a birfday party for Unca Twevor then.”
We finally got her to take a nap after reading 23 books, answering 17 questions about sharks, singing 4 songs, and agreeing to lie down next to her bed so she wouldn’t feel so lonely. The level of orchestration surrounding this everyday occurrence boggles my mind, but what is more baffling is that the child wasn’t begging to go to sleep on her own.
It’s for this reason that I’m pretty sure three-year-olds aren’t actually humans. Or at least that they all need to go out and get jobs.