"But Mom, Lindsay's Parents Let Her Stay Up All Night"
Filed under: Grandparentology, To Sleep Perchance, Toddlerology, Vacationate Author:
Every two minutes or so, I would look in the back seat to see if MJ was asleep yet. Down the road from our beach house rental, over the Trooper Larry Walton Memorial Bridge, across the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway and back ... four nights in a row, we tried to drive our little toddler to sleep, the way we used to do when she was a newborn.
Why? Because she was out of control hyper. Doodlebops hyper. I kid you not, the first night of our vacation, the child break-danced on the hardwood floors at 11 p.m. while my sister read her If You Give a Moose a Muffin. I have cousins, nieces and nephews who will conk out on a couch at 8 p.m., even if a party is going on around them. Even at their own birthday parties. My kid? Will outlast the hardiest of partiers. Paris and Lindsay would not know what hit them.
And if you've ever traveled with both a 3-year-old and a 10-month-old and had to "sleep" in the same room with both of them, you know the drill. You know what's at stake. If the baby cries, the toddler is up. If the toddler protests bedtime, the baby is squawking. It is truly one of life's most cruel and vicious cycles.
So, the driving. Each night, a new excuse to go to the grocery store: "MJ, let's get in the car (at 9:30 p.m.); we need to buy some diapers." "Hey, let's go for a quick ride to buy you a new toothbrush." Etc.
The first night, it actually worked. We drove home, I got out of the car and went into the house first for some recon work -- asking all the adults (grandparents, aunts, etc.) to turn down the lights and mute the TV and be as still as mice, as though waiting for a surprise birthday party -- and then Randy brought her boneless body inside and deposited her onto her toddler air bed a mere five feet from her sister's crib ... and we both held our breath. Success.
The next night was a disaster. She was "drowsy" by the end of our drive, so we tried to put her in her bed and coax her to sleep. Seemed fine. And then, it wasn't. And then, everybody was awake. Toddler, baby, Mommy, Daddy, Grammy and Pop Pop across the hall. There was begging. There was pleading. There was rocking. And that was just what we had to do to get the grandparents back to sleep! (Ba dump bump.) MJ gave in at around midnight; Little L held out until 1:30 a.m. Everyone else: exhausted.
MJ was like a zombie the next day (and most days, actually), she was so tired. The drama reached new levels. In one hilarious episode, she stood on the porch trying to fasten Randy's life jacket around her and tripped on her own feet, tumbling ever so gently onto her back while wearing the thing, rendering her unable to move. While she lay there, kicking her legs and crying, we "adults" rocked in our white rocking chairs and giggled at the sight. "She's like a turtle," my dad guffawed, "stuck on its back." Her mother took a video. Finally, someone righted her, only to watch her do it again. It was sad. We were sorry we had laughed, we told ourselves, in between laughter. Because mostly it was just funny.
Except for the not sleeping part.
So, new plan. Still driving, but now with new bedding arrangements. Baby crib goes into grandparents room, toddler air bed stays in our room. More success, but still the kind that had her up until midnight. The next night, same plan. More disaster. This time, Little L, growing no fewer than six teeth at once this week, gets a bit growly and demands a room reassignment. Crib goes back into our room, toddler air bed moves to the grandparents' quarters. Eventual success.
The next night? Screw the driving. Nothing left to buy at Food Lion. So, a shockingly familiar tactic: Bathtime, story, cuddle, singing by mommy, and ... miraculously, sleep. Sweet, precious, un-embattled sleep. "I love you too, Mommy," she said before she rolled over and started snoring -- because that's what she always says when her world is right, when she's blissful, when she's safe, when she's not a turtle stuck on its back in a daze of insomnia.
Poor MJ. Her bad parents, in an effort to take a vacation from being parents, tried every gimmick in the book to avoid the usual seemingly drawn-out bedtime routine we have to do at home. And it only cost us $20 in gas and seven hours of sleep to figure it out. We are idiots.
Why? Because she was out of control hyper. Doodlebops hyper. I kid you not, the first night of our vacation, the child break-danced on the hardwood floors at 11 p.m. while my sister read her If You Give a Moose a Muffin. I have cousins, nieces and nephews who will conk out on a couch at 8 p.m., even if a party is going on around them. Even at their own birthday parties. My kid? Will outlast the hardiest of partiers. Paris and Lindsay would not know what hit them.
And if you've ever traveled with both a 3-year-old and a 10-month-old and had to "sleep" in the same room with both of them, you know the drill. You know what's at stake. If the baby cries, the toddler is up. If the toddler protests bedtime, the baby is squawking. It is truly one of life's most cruel and vicious cycles.
So, the driving. Each night, a new excuse to go to the grocery store: "MJ, let's get in the car (at 9:30 p.m.); we need to buy some diapers." "Hey, let's go for a quick ride to buy you a new toothbrush." Etc.
The first night, it actually worked. We drove home, I got out of the car and went into the house first for some recon work -- asking all the adults (grandparents, aunts, etc.) to turn down the lights and mute the TV and be as still as mice, as though waiting for a surprise birthday party -- and then Randy brought her boneless body inside and deposited her onto her toddler air bed a mere five feet from her sister's crib ... and we both held our breath. Success.
The next night was a disaster. She was "drowsy" by the end of our drive, so we tried to put her in her bed and coax her to sleep. Seemed fine. And then, it wasn't. And then, everybody was awake. Toddler, baby, Mommy, Daddy, Grammy and Pop Pop across the hall. There was begging. There was pleading. There was rocking. And that was just what we had to do to get the grandparents back to sleep! (Ba dump bump.) MJ gave in at around midnight; Little L held out until 1:30 a.m. Everyone else: exhausted.
MJ was like a zombie the next day (and most days, actually), she was so tired. The drama reached new levels. In one hilarious episode, she stood on the porch trying to fasten Randy's life jacket around her and tripped on her own feet, tumbling ever so gently onto her back while wearing the thing, rendering her unable to move. While she lay there, kicking her legs and crying, we "adults" rocked in our white rocking chairs and giggled at the sight. "She's like a turtle," my dad guffawed, "stuck on its back." Her mother took a video. Finally, someone righted her, only to watch her do it again. It was sad. We were sorry we had laughed, we told ourselves, in between laughter. Because mostly it was just funny.
Except for the not sleeping part.
So, new plan. Still driving, but now with new bedding arrangements. Baby crib goes into grandparents room, toddler air bed stays in our room. More success, but still the kind that had her up until midnight. The next night, same plan. More disaster. This time, Little L, growing no fewer than six teeth at once this week, gets a bit growly and demands a room reassignment. Crib goes back into our room, toddler air bed moves to the grandparents' quarters. Eventual success.
The next night? Screw the driving. Nothing left to buy at Food Lion. So, a shockingly familiar tactic: Bathtime, story, cuddle, singing by mommy, and ... miraculously, sleep. Sweet, precious, un-embattled sleep. "I love you too, Mommy," she said before she rolled over and started snoring -- because that's what she always says when her world is right, when she's blissful, when she's safe, when she's not a turtle stuck on its back in a daze of insomnia.
Poor MJ. Her bad parents, in an effort to take a vacation from being parents, tried every gimmick in the book to avoid the usual seemingly drawn-out bedtime routine we have to do at home. And it only cost us $20 in gas and seven hours of sleep to figure it out. We are idiots.
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