A typical night in the CityMama household.
7:00—Kids in bed. Lights out.
7:05—Bunny forgot to go to the bathroom. Wallie decides she needs more water in her sippy cup.
7:10—Listen to Bunny complain (insert whiny 4-year-old voice here) about how much she "hates her room" because she has "no one to sleep with" even though her sister is 15 steps away.
7:15—Re-tuck everyone in to bed. Reassure Bunny that no, there are no mites in her bed (she's obsessed with insects these days) even though you know there are. Lights out.
Midnight—After close to 5 hours of lovely, relaxing, kid-free time. Get into bed.
12:30—Bunny exits her room to go to the bathroom then tries to get into bed, something she has done every night for a year. Remind her that we are working on sleeping in our own bed and that Mamma said that if she sleeps in her own bed for five nights in a row, Mamma will buy her "a bunch of candycanes." (Bunny's suggestion.) Bunny turns and gets back into her bed.
3:07—Neighbor's yappy-ass chihuahua goes on his nightly barking jag. Stops 10 minutes later. Listen to J. mumbling something about BB guns.
3:42—A Harley roars up the street and sets off someone's extra sensitive car alarm. Reach for earplugs. Insert.
4:29—Awaken as Bunny crawls up next to you from the foot of the bed.
6:49—Feel Bunny wake-up and trot off to her room to get dressed. (She must get dressed first thing in the AM. Is this a weird 4-year-old quirk or is it just my kid?)
7:01—Dream that one of your children is yelling about something. Awaken to Wallie shouting, "I wanna get out of da crib, Mamma. I wanna get out of da crib, Papa." Alternately. Over and over again.
7:02—Stumble to Wallie's crib, lift her out. She's already half-way there with one leg over the crib. Bring her into bed with you.
7:09—Bunny leans over, fully dressed, and whispers, "It's 'seven-zero-nine,' Mamma." Ignore.
7:10—"It's seven-ten, Mamma."
7:11—"It's 'seven-one-one,' no, it's 'seven-eleven,' Mamma." Curse the day you taught Bunny how to read a digital clock. Remind Bunny that she is not to bother you until the clock says what now? "Eight-zero-zero, Mamma." Turn over. Try to get a few more precious moments of sleep.
7:13—Jerk awake after Wallie attempts to open your eye with her fingers. Tell her to cut it out. Wallie laughs.
7:14—Feel tiny fingers tickling your eyelashes. Then your nostril. Then your ear. FUCK!!!
7:15—Click TV on. Both kids sit up and shut-up, mesmerized by the TV. Thank god. Before kids you would never have had a TV in your room. Kills intimacy and all that. Fuck intimacy. Sleep is good.
8:00—"It's 'eight-zero-zero,' Mamma...Wake up...It's time for breakfast. Wallie and I want Gorilla Munch."
Finally pin-point why it is you are so goddamn grouchy all day. Decide that maybe Joan Crawford wasn't so cruel for tying her kids to the bed after all. No wonder she always looked fabulous. It was all the sleep...and a lack of conscience from being an alcoholic, but whatever.