An ode to naps
(Did you hear that the French government is even considering making a short nap official government policy? Somebody ought to feed this to Harper as a way to appease all those alienated public servants.)
It's to the point that I have to actively deceive Simon into taking his afternoon nap. Embarrassing though it is to admit, he's three years old and I'm having a harder and harder time outwitting him. First, he figured out the bed was a danger zone, and if he let me entice him in for a 'cuddle', he was doomed. Once he caught on, he started resisting going in to the bedroom after lunch, then resisting any motion toward the second floor of the house.
I've had to work hard to keep ahead of him. Today, I resorted to tempting him with old photographs, one of his weaknesses, to lure him into the bedroom. Once I got him into the room, I tried to convince him to join me in the bed, "because I'm so tired after working hard all morning, and I'd really like you to come and help me have a little rest." Clever little monkey would have none of that. Eventually, through a combination of persistance, insistence and obstinance, I finally coerced him onto the bed, with Simon protesting the whole time.
I knew I'd won a battle once I got a soother in his mouth, and victory was mine after a few short minutes of lying together in the darked room, my arms wrapped tightly around him to discourage fidgeting. I think less than five minutes passed before his breathing was deep and regular, and his body was calm after the wave of tiny twitches that are always a harbringer of his deepest sleep. The hardest part was deciding to extricate myself from his warmth and get on with my afternoon, rather than giving in to a nap myself.
He awoke two hours later in a foul mood, entirely too aware of my duplicitousness. "Mommy," he whined, yawning and indignant, "I didn't want to take a nap." I couldn't help but laugh. Sadly, I may be the first, but I certainly won't be the last woman to use my wicked ways to trick the poor boy into doing my will.
Tristan has suddenly discovered the Disney movie Toy Story and runs around the house shouting things like, "To infinity and beyond!" and "I'm Buzz Lightyear. I come in peace."
Today, while I was pulling on my boots and coat to come to work, the boys were bouncing about nearby.
Me, enveloping Tristan in a bear hug: "I love you, Tristan. Have a great day!"
Tristan: "I'm not Tristan, I'm Buzz Lightyear!"
Me: "Right. Okay, Buzz, have a great day."
Me, turning to Simon: "And you, Woody! You have a great day, too."
Simon, indignantly: "I'm not Woody! I'm Mr Potato Head!"
Labels: The wee beasties