Josh has been gone for almost a week — he’s back in America soaking up the San Diego sunshine. Meanwhile our highs are 60-65 in a house with no heat (a normal feature of houses here). I’ve been wearing wool socks, sweats, and my puffy jacket inside the house. Good thing winter only lasts a month here.
On the bright side, I’ve been so busy this week, I’ve hardly had time to sit around my cold house. All the winter/spring activities started up again after a holiday break and for the first time I have 4 in soccer. The scheduling gods smiled on me though because I have 3 on one night in a 2 hour period and 1 on another night with a friend who can carpool. That leaves the other nights open for ballet, youth group, home group, and all the other things that fill up our schedule.
Since Camille is still a wretched sleeper (I’d love to do a word count and figure out how many times I’ve written about that topic in the last 3 and a half years), I’ve given up, waved the white flag, surrendered, and embraced it. With Josh gone I’m just letting her lay in my bed next to me while I watch TV and she falls asleep when she falls asleep. Her average time seems to be about 11 (and this is both with and without a nap. I’ve tried everything). It’s better than putting her to bed at 8 and having to deal with crying, screaming and sneaking out of the room until 10:30. The only thing that would make it better is if she would be quiet in my bed instead of asking questions like, “Who’s that? What are they doing?” Peace please.
Last night I put her to bed at 8 and lay with her until she fell asleep. It is the mothering job I hate the most. I’d rather clean toilets. At the end of the day, I just want to be done. Good night, kiss, kiss. The end. I know it sounds all sweet, but lying there doing nothing feels like the most unproductive thing in the world and it makes my skin crawl. She won’t relax and she keeps trying to talk to keep herself awake and I get increasingly irritated the longer it goes on and it’s torture and I threaten to leave if she keeps trying to get up . . . it’s not pretty. Josh is the one that usually handles her bedtime.
But last night I was a perfect Goodnight Mom. I lay there, praying for resilience and patience and for her to fall asleep. It took about 30 minutes (15 of it was loud screaming in my ear, but I endured) and then magic. She was in dreamland.
I went downstairs and turned on the TV and stumbled on American Idol — the newest season. It was a gift from God for putting my daughter’s needs before my own. 35 minutes of greatness until she woke up screaming. Seriously. I could not make this stuff up. If she were my first, I would think that it was poor parenting. Now I’m positive that she’s a defective sleeper. I didn’t have any luck getting her to relax so I had her lie on the couch next to me. She stayed awake until 11.
On the flip side (and why this week has been manageable as a solo parent), I hate mornings and dealing with her at night makes me hate them even more. So I bartered with the boys: I would trade the morning wake up routine for xbox time. If I wake them for school at 6:30 and they get themselves dressed, fed, and on the bus so I can go back to sleep at 6:31 then they can have an hour of Xbox time when they get home from school.
I’ve been a happier mom all week, they’ve been happier kids (who wouldn’t be thrilled with xbox privileges?), and I’ve let go of the guilt that comes with not being a morning person.
