Birthing Beautiful Ideas

I realize how potentially dangerous and frightening the following situation is, and how frighteningly dangerous one or more of the soon-to-be-described events could have been.  Everyone is safe, so I think it’s permissible to write about it all here and use humor as my motherhood-catharsis.

Yes, that’s the sort of week I’m having.

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If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you may have heard me say a thing or twelve about the obscenely chaotic time we’ve been having in our house, courtesy of our resident two-year-old Houdini-howler-monkey, A.

It all started last Friday night after Tim and I had put the boys to bed.  First I heard a thud, and then a thumping, and then a constant pitter-pattering.

When I went upstairs to see what the ruckus was all about, I discovered that my dear, sweet A had managed to clamber out of his crib and sweep tornado-style through the room and all of its contents in the moments between my hearing the thud-thumping pitter-pattering and my doing something about it.

I had figured this day would arrive sooner or later–he is quite the climber, after all–so I wasn’t entirely shocked by what I saw.  I very calmly rocked him, read him one more book, sang him one more song, and snuggled him under his blankets for a good night’s sleep.

Minutes later, the thud-thumping started up again.  And then again.  And then again.  And for the next three hours, Tim and I took turns placing A back in his crib.

It’s an understatement when I say that our patience had been whittled down to a nub by the night’s end.

At one point, we did have the bright idea to place a baby gate at A’s doorway.  But then he took a half-filled box of diapers, turned it upside down, and scaled the gate.

We removed the diaper box, but then he found a canvas toy bin, turned it upside down, and hopped the gate yet again.

And after we removed everything remotely resembling a box, A took to climbing up and over the gate all on his own.

Oh A, how I admire your determination.  All. That. Freakin’. Determination.

I know what some of you are thinking right now: what’s a little climbing?  He was excited!  Thrilled with his new-found freedom!  Let’s celebrate his curiosity!

But let me just put his brand of excitement into perspective for you.

Did you guys ever see that after-school special in which the main character (played by Academy Award winner Helen Hunt!) tries PCP or angel dust (or are they the same thing?) and then FA-REAKS out and plunges out the second story window at her school?

(Hey look, someone uploaded the video on YouTube!)

A looked a lot like Helen-Hunt-on-drugs that night.  And to that, I ask WHO THE HELL GAVE MY BABY DRUGS?!?!

Oh wait.  He was high on the sweet taste of freedom.  WHO THE HELL TOLD MY KID TO CRUSH HIS FREEDOM AND THEN SNORT IT UP HIS NOSE?!?!

Tim and I gave up somewhere around midnight.  And A gave up (in a pile of utter, wild-induced exhaustion) around 12:30 a.m.  And he started back up again at 6 the next morning.

If A were a child who didn’t need much sleep, I wouldn’t have been all that worried.  (Join hands with me and celebrate his beautiful, sparkling curiosity and lust for life!)  But both of my boys are 12-14 hour sleepers.  They are “high energy” kids, both physically and intellectually, and if they don’t get enough sleep in any given 24-hour period, they begin to melt into puddles of whiny frustration.

Isn’t that what all people do when they don’t get enough sleep?

In any case, somewhere in the midst of trying to sidestep the puddles of whiny frustration scattered about the house, Tim and I had the scintillatingly brilliant idea to transition A into the “big kid bed” that was waiting for him in his brother’s room.

That’s exactly what they needed!  The crib-climbing was a sign!  It was so obviously time for them to begin sharing a room!

Someone?  Get me a drink.  And a magic “DUDE, you gotta start seeing things more clearly” device.

Trying to get the two of them to sleep in the same room was like trying to dress a bunch of feral cats in baby-doll clothes and sit them around a teeny tiny table for a tea party.  Ain’t gonna happen.

Soon, naptime was shot to hell.  (M, who’s four, generally doesn’t sleep during “quiet time,” but he does often benefit from a quiet hour or two in his room while his brother is sleeping.)  And sooner, bedtime was completely obliterated.

And much to our dismay, the kids were averaging a total of seven hours of sleep per day.

If you are a parent (or even if you’re not), you know that this is not. good.

So, geniuses that we are, we began getting A (2) to sleep first, and then letting M (4) stay up until A was in a deep sleep.  And it was working.  It was really, truly working for a couple of naptimes and bedtimes.

Until A woke up at four this morning and started getting his groove thang on once he spied M in the bed next to his.  (“M!  M!  Wake up!  WANT TO PLAY?!“)

And then it took us nearly two hours to get him and his tired, tiny, grooving butt back to sleep.

And then?  THEN?

People, I was in a deep, deep sleep.  It was the deep, deep sleep of sleep-deprivation.

And that’s why I didn’t hear A wake up and climb over the baby gate in his doorway.

That’s why I didn’t hear him walk downstairs, saunter over to the kitchen, and scoot a kitchen chair over to the counter so that he could grab and eat one of the banana muffins that we had made yesterday in my attempt to do something low-key yet fun with the kids–you know, something where A could mash something (i.e. bananas) other than my brain matter.

That’s why I didn’t hear him as he spilled a container of Milakai Pudi (I.E. “FRESHLY GROUND PEPPERS WITH HOUSE SPICES” FROM A LOCAL INDIAN RESTAURANT) all over the banana muffins, all over the counter, all over (and inside) my purse, all over the chair, and all over the floor.

That’s why I didn’t hear him when he scooted the chair across the entire kitchen and over to the pantry to search for more food.  (I sweartogod, we feed him.)

But I did hear him as he let out a blood-curdling scream after he RUBBED HIS EYES WITH HIS SPICE-COVERED HANDS.

A couple of eye-flushes later, he was ready to take on the world just as he had been for the past five days: wearing his new-found independence like a gold lame’ jumpsuit.

And I’m just begging that he soon learns that the entire family (A included) is ready to take on the world with just a little more sleep.

nothing like milakai pudi and banana muffins to perk up your morning.

it's amazing that i've been able to construct complete sentences today.