Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

When I was about eight years old, I stopped sleeping. It wasn't a choice I made, it was something that happened to me I couldn't entirely explain. I just couldn't sleep. Some nights I'd lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, playing games with my imagination. Some nights I'd crawl out of bed and into the TV room next door, turn on Nick at Night and quietly watch F Troop, Get Smart, and I Love Lucy until the ominous moment that Mr. Wizard came one. That meant it was officially day- the children's programming was beginning again. Most days I turned off Mr. Wizard and climbed into bed, to close my eyes until my father woke me for school.

Many times, during that two hour window, I fell asleep at last, and my father struggled with rousing me from my bed- oblivious to how little sleep I'd managed to catch while the sun rose.

Some nights, I would go and knock on my parents' door. Occasionally my mother would take me to the living room, tuck me into the couch, or a few armchairs tugged together into a sort of crib, and leave me with a book and a shot glass full of schnapps, saying, "Sip it slowly. It'll help you sleep."

On one of these nights, she walked into the library, the room with our television, and grabbed a book off the shelf. A grownup book. It was "R is for Rocket," the story collection by Ray Bradbury. I read the whole book before finally drifting off, my ounce of schnapps inside my stomach and my lips both sweet and bitter. From then on I frequented my parents' library. I read dozens, hundreds of books. Everything by Ray Bradbury, although I really didn't understand some of it. I read the Agatha Christie novels my grandma loved, I read the complete works of Roald Dahl... I read "The Eyes of the Dragon" by Stephen King, and after telling my parents how much I loved it, they invited me to stay up with them one night and watch Poltergeist.

Once I was old enough to have learned the geography of our college town, I would sneak out of the house at night and walk, for hours.

I walked downtown, looking at all the darkened shops. I'd walk to the elementary school where my little sister went, and swing on the swings, singing quietly to myself until the sky started to turn purple.

I walked to campus, climbed into parking structures, and sang in the stairwells- every song I knew. Belting out show tunes and practicing my audition pieces for State Honor's Choir.

Me at 15, in front of one of my insomnia murals

I walked to friends' houses, stealing roses from neighbor's gardens, leaving them on their doorstep for them to find when they went to school.

I rarely had company or trouble on my walks. I took to wearing a long black cloak, which I hoped hid my gender as well as my face, and I walked fast if anyone was present. One night there was a man standing in front of one of my favorite downtown shops. Just standing, in the dark. Grinning. He creeped me out with that grin. He looked as old as my grandfather, and much balder. And as I realized he was watching me speed past, I realized he was naked from the waist down. It was the closest to danger I ever came on my strolls.

My parents tried to help me with my sleep. My father taught me meditation techniques, even loaned me meditation tapes. He taught me to breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. My mother took me to therapists to help with the insomnia, gave me melatonin, never questioned the destruction I wreaked on my walls when rather than walking around town, I sat inside, taping pictures to the walls in massive, intricate collages.

In retrospect, I think I made my sleeplessness pretty easy for them. And they were mostly understanding about it, even if they never understood its scope. I didn't sleep at night, most nights, for any useful amount of time, until I was twenty years old.

When I finally did start sleeping, I had nightmares. Every night. It wasn't until more than two years later, when M came into my life, that I finally learned what it was like to just sleep. Something I hadn't experienced in more than thirteen years.

I think about this, now, because SI has started having trouble sleeping. Real trouble sleeping.

Sometime between 11 and 12, most nights, she comes into my room, struggling to find an excuse. Her go-to excuse is, "I'm scared of the dark."

The fact is, I know this is not true. I know she is neither scared of the dark, nor relegated to it. She has a night light gummy bear who lives in her bed. If she were scared, she would turn it on. She would turn on the light. She would be scared. But she's not. She comes in and says, "Well..." and then begins her attempt to make an excuse for being awake.

I try to be patient, but I am not ready for this. She is five years old, and she does finally go to sleep. Every night. But I can see it coming.

I can see that sometime in the nest few years, it's going to happen. SI will lose her battle with sleep, and she'll be a confused kid, trapped in a silent house, alone with her thoughts. As a little kid, it's agony. Knowing you must be silent. Knowing you're no nearer to sleep than you are to morning.

She loves to read, so she has that going for her. But I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. The world has changed since I was a kid. No way in Hell am I letting any child of mine wander the streets of Chicago by night, so different from Ann Arbor in the 90s. But I cannot stay up with her each night, drinking warm cups of milk and reading books.

Some nights, yes, I can do that.

Because some nights, yes, I still don't sleep.

But I don't want this for her. I don't want decades of insomnia for her. I don't want the attendant depression and anxiety that come from constant fatigue. I don't want the regret, I don't want her to feel like there is something wrong with her. I don't want her to feel like she'll never be rested again. I don't want any of that for my daughter.

But on nights like that I want to tell her, "Someday, when you're a grownup, you'll be able to sleep." And what comfort is that to a child of five? What comfort comes from knowing you'll be old enough to have children of your own before you can finally enjoy the benefits of actually sleeping?

Last night I was awake long after SI. Laying in bed, anxieties plaguing me, alternately reading and playing Tetris.

Me and SI taking selfies (and M photobombing them)

Maybe next time she comes in at 11pm, I'll send M to the couch. I'll let SI lie down in the bed with me and talk through everything that's busying her tired brain. Maybe I'll take her to the living room, tuck her into the couch, and give her a shot glass of schnapps, "To sip slowly," and hand her a book a few grade levels beyond her abilities to struggle with and conquer before dawn.

Maybe next time, I'll curl up with her on the couch, and put F Troop on TV and watch until the sun comes up.

Maybe during the next Parent Teacher Conference, I'll tell her teachers to be patient with her when she's tired, because there is nothing I know to do to help her sleep.

Maybe this is one of those things in life I knew would come, these personal battles I just can't fight for her.

Maybe all I can do is be understanding of her when she weeps over nothing throughout the day, just too tired to behave, when she screams at her baby sister from the exasperation of the exhausted. Maybe all I can do is let her not sleep and love her so much that she always feels she can snuggle on my lap when she needs a rest.

It might not get her through high school, but it might get her through learning to live like this.

Maybe all I can do is be her mother.

Let's Talk About Beds, Baby

You probably have one of these.

Nearly thirty years ago now, I was born human. And being human has some drawbacks. One of those is the required ownership of a human spine.

Now, I don't know if you know this, but these guys are seriously flawed. I mean, don't get me wrong. They're amazing. Without them, we wouldn't be able to accomplish about 99.9% of all the spectacular achievements of humanity. But they have a laundry list of problems.

At the top of that list is pain. Standard, run-of-the-mill back pain. It sucks, and nearly everybody's going to get it at some point. Why? Because you have one of these things, and you're going to use it to sit or stand for a couple of decades without taking a nice, antigravity break.

For some of us, the problems come sooner than later. I was blessed/cursed with what my favorite bra website refers to as an "ample bosom" at an early age. By the time I was fifteen, I started needing to see doctors to help me take care of this spine of mine and the incessant pain it caused me. Add to that a couple injuries, a few pregnancies, and then the perils of running around your house constantly while hunched down to about three feet high to chase and communicate with miniature people... well...

Suffice to say, my spine and I have a strained relationship.

I've done an amazing number of things to combat my back pain, which is a combination of standard lumbar pain (that's your lower back), more complex thoracic pain (thank you big boobs), and trauma-induced cervical pain (that's my neck- not my lady business). I've got two chiropractors on speed dial, a favorite acupuncturist, a long list of preferred yoga routines (depending on the area giving me trouble), an equally long list of strength building exercises for the muscles in those areas, running prescriptions for Vicodan and Flexeril (taken judiciously), a massage therapist who knows more about what's going on in my life than my parents... you get the idea.

My kids think Sleepy's is the best place ever.

And starting about four months ago, we got a new mattress.

Let's hold on a second- four months ago? I got the thing four months ago, and I'm only going to tell you all about it NOW? What's wrong with me? What kind of awful blogger am I?

A thoroughly awful one. And by that, I mean I'm thorough.

Let me tell you a little about how my lifestyle has changed in the past four months.

I am back-pain-free about 70% of the time.

That might not sound like a lot to you, but let me tell you, it is HUGE. I've gone from seeing a chiropractor 1-2 times a week to seeing a chiropractor once every other month. (I'll just let you imagine how those savings add up- don't forget to factor in childcare for chiro appointments.) I've refilled my Flexeril prescription once in that time span. Only once. I haven't had any acupuncture. I've (sadly) only had two massages.

In the last third of a year, I've probably saved in pain management about a third of the cost of my brand new mattress.

It kind of blows my mind that we can't use our HSA to pay for the mattress, it's been such a health boon to me.

But not just to me. And not just the mattress.

The Sleepy's guy who sold us our mattress didn't just sell us a mattress. And at no point did he try to up-sell us a mattress. He walked us through the store, helping M and I test the various elements of each model- learning about the different parts of a newfangled mattress (ours is a coil based system, but has a band of memory foam type material running through in a band to provide a little additional lumbar support). He helped us find something that helped me and my bazillion times larger husband sleep more comfortably.

He did more than THAT though, too. He helped us pick out new pillows. Pillows that actually fit our necks, and our sleeping styles. Who knew that could actually make such a big difference?

And I was going to write about it then, but I couldn't. Because I really didn't know how I felt about it yet. I didn't know how I felt about a bed that was a full foot higher than the one I was used to. M didn't know how he felt about a bed that was tall enough that the edges actually needed to support his weight when he sat down. And it's hard to tell after just a few weeks whether or not you're really feeling any better about it.

I actually need a step stool to get into bed.

Sleepy's gave us a money back, no questions asked guarantee, and we almost took them up on it.
Almost. Because you really do have to LEARN how to sleep on a different bed every night. It's weird- you'd think it's as simple as just laying down and sleeping, but it's not.

Now, most mornings when I wake up, my hands ache and cramp, but my back? Feels just fine. I wake up without back pain. That's totally new to me.

M sleeps through the whole night most nights, whereas he used to toss and turn. And we've gotten used to it. Even after I got us a new bed frame, one that was EVEN TALLER, we're still happy with the bed. Because we're less tired, less achey, and less reluctant to get started in the morning. You know, because we're better rested. It's a magical thing.

Really, the whole experience was kind of spectacular. The prices were good, when there was trouble processing our payment (on their end, not ours) and they had to miss our delivery, they made up for it by delivering for free.

And, of course, they took away the old mattress and box spring so we never had to worry about them again.

I can't recommend Sleepy's enough. (Particularly the Sleepy's at 605 W. Roosevelt Rd. in Chicago.) But I can tell you that investing in a good mattress was, in hindsight, just common sense.

I'm pretty optimistic that by the anniversary of getting our new mattress, it will have saved us as much in medical costs (and attached childcare costs) as the thing cost in the first place. I wish we'd bought a new mattress when I was pregnant with the twins, five years ago. Who knows how much we might have saved by now?

I'm not saying a good mattress will fix your broken back. I'm saying that for once, I'm sleeping in a bed that isn't actually making things worse. That supports my spine and lets it rest and recover from the previous day without causing any additional damage.

It took me a few months to be certain about how I feel, but now I'm sure. I feel great. I feel better than I've felt in years.

And I can offer my bed no higher praise than that.

...thanks, Sleepy's.


Sleepy's did provide me with $100 in gift cards, but all the opinions and choices represented here are my own.

The Four Year Old's Bedtime Lament

I cannot go to sleep tonight
The sun is still up in the sky
My sister had more pie than I
My fingernail is scratchy.

I have to pee.
I have to sneeze.
May I have a cup of water please?
I need a bandaid on my knee!
I heard a doggy barking!

I don't care that I didn't nap,
Or screamed when I took off my hat
I've yawned for an hour and a half
But I PROMISE I'm not sleepy!

Another song? Another book?
One with pictures! Let me look!
Not THAT one, the one that I took
and left at Grandma's house!

I hit my head! I hit my butt!
Look! My thumb has got a cut!
The door made a sound when it shut!
Don't leave the room! Don't leave me!

I see a bug!
I see the sky!
I have an eyelash in my eye!
If you don't sit right there I'll cry!
Just look at me- I'm weepy!

Don't lean on that,
Don't sing THAT song!
You're doing all the voices wrong!
My parts are short! Now make them long!
I don't want you to be angry.

Just one more hug,
one more big kiss.
Here on my nose- that time you missed.
Teddy goes right here, like this,
Goodnight, sleepy mommy.

I'll hum a song,
I'll whisper, "hush,"
I won't open my eyes up, much.
My teddy bear I'll gently touch
and nestle in my pillow.

The sun is gone,
the fan blades whirr
Here in my bed I gently purr
With little hands and growing feet
At last, your three year old's asleep.

My Daddy Snores, and Other Avoidable Bedtime Catastrophes

DD and SI testing out mattresses

(This is a sponsored post. I was given the book I review, but all of the opinions are my own.)

You probably don't know this, but sleep health is sort of a pet issue of mine. From the time I was about eight and a half until well into my adulthood, I suffered from severe insomnia.

And I mean SEVERE insomnia.

By the time I was ten my mother essentially gave up on forcing me to go to sleep. Eventually, she tucked me in on the couch, handed me a collection of Ray Bradbury short stories, and poured me a shot of Peach Schnapps that she directed me to, "Sip slowly." Which I did.

I think her intention was to relax me and ease me into sleep. Sadly, it didn't work.

I completely covered the wall at 16

By the time I was in high school, I had a nighttime routine. I'd lay in bed for about an hour, listening to quiet music and meditating (my father's attempts to help had been guided meditation techniques). After my CD had ended, I'd lie in the dark feeling frustrated. Then I'd get up and ransack every recycling basket in the house for magazines, catalogs, and newspapers, and cut every single eye out and tape it to my wall.

Creepy? Sure. I'm not making excuses.

After that, I'd lay down again, and switch CDs. Sometimes, I managed to fall asleep. When I didn't, I'd put on my shoes and sneak out of the house. I'd wander around the neighborhood, pilfering roses from the house at Ferdon and Granger, and leaving them on my friends' doorsteps. I walked past the frat houses, through the quiet downtown, swing on the swings at Burns Park Elementary School...

And when the sky started to get that hazy, pre-dawn look to it, I'd walk home, climb into bed, and fall asleep. Just in time to be shaken awake for school the next day.

I tell you all of this because I GET IT- sleep is important. It might sound like I was having a blast, but I suffered through my insomnia. Not sleeping? That's a big deal. Not sleeping well? It's almost as bad. Sometimes, it's worse.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky to attend a Sleepy's event, with Nancy Rothstein, Sleep Ambassador and author of "My Daddy Snores."

Nancy Rothstein has written a children's book about the importance of sleep. More importantly, she's likable book about the importance of sleep. My kids LOVE this book.
written a funny, engaging,

It's a silly tale of woe- poor Mommy can't get any sleep because Daddy snores. The illustrations are
adorable. And eventually, Mommy has HAD IT and takes Daddy to the doctor- and the doctor cures Daddy of snoring.

There are three, yes three, incredibly effective takeaways for kids from this short picture book.

1. Snoring is a curable condition, and going to a doctor can make it stop. This is great- kids have no filter, and the admonition of children is a HUGE motivator for adults. I might not be able to approach my father in law and say, "You should really see a doctor about that snoring," but my kids sure can. Because kids are awesome at just saying things like they are, as they see it.

Bouncing on beds with balloons

2. Sleep, healthy sleep, is important. It's worth fighting for, it's worth working for, and it is its own reward.

3. Going to see the doctor when something isn't quite right about your body is okay. This is a big problem in our society- this machismo regarding our health. Unless we're bleeding out of our ears, we don't want to see a doctor.

My kids love this book- and they play-act around it regularly.

"Mommy! This picture is of Johnny the Spider! His daddy snores! His daddy snores SO LOUD! They need to go to a doctor so everyone can sleep!"

It's pretty cute.

So Ms. Rothstein, the Sleep Ambassador, handed out a few spectacular tips for improving your night's sleep.

1. Turn off your devices. The light emitted by televisions, computer monitors, your phone, your kindle... those are are blue spectrum lights. Those are lights that confuse your brain about the time of day and throw off your circadian rhythm. The only color light that doesn't? Red. Which is bad news if you don't particularly like sleeping in a dark room, but great news if your kids are obsessed with pink and want a pink nightlight. That pink nightlight will be less disruptive to their sleep than a white or blue light.

2. Almond milk! That old wives tale about a glass of milk? Not so great for sleeping, as it turns out. But almonds are loaded with compounds, like theanine, that aid sleep. So replacing a pre-bedtime glass of milk with almond milk? I've been doing this at home and I can tell you- it works.

3. Bedtime music. Some music keeps you awake, and some helps you sleep. So what helps you sleep? Sounds that are somewhat unfamiliar. When your brain starts falling into familiar patterns, it wants to complete them- keeping it awake. But unfamiliar sounds... I think this is why so many lullabies are written in minor keys. We tend to associate so much of music (particularly kids' music) with major keys- those minor tones can sound discordant. And that's good- that will help them sleep. So cue up the creepy lullabies- they're better for bedtime than Twinkle Twinkle!

Baby on the move!

4. Yoga! Doing yoga before bed relaxes your mind and body, making it easier for your mind to make the transition. There is so much literature that opposes working out before bed, and there's a lot to it, but a simple, relaxing yoga routine before hitting the hay can help make the transition to unconsciousness a lot easier.

5. Consistency! It might seem like the number on the clock isn't that important, but it is. A rigid routine has lasting effects- it's almost Pavlovian. So make sure you start your bedtime routine at the same time every night.

6. Last but not least, your mattress. Ms. Rothstein pointed out that we spend a full third of our lives sleeping. So why would you choose to spend all of that time on a mattress that didn't help you sleep? People balk at dropping a few thousand dollars on a mattress (I am still balking), but she's right- you really can't put a price on high quality sleep. I could spend $2,500 on a good mattress that would keep me sleeping better for ten years, or I could spend $100 a month on the xanax that frequently helps me get to sleep, for a total of $12,000 over the same time period. That's a pretty simple cost/ benefit analysis.

With all that said, I have definitely started bugging my husband about the quality of our mattress- which is more than ten years old, crushed on one side, and has NEVER been terribly comfortable for me. So that's definitely happening in the not too distant future.

And I am taking the bedtime routine for my kids more seriously. I know the long-term consequences of poor sleep personally, and if I can help my kids avoid them?

Awesome.

The Persistence of Memory

DD by night
photo by Phil Forsyth

Everyone remembers their first real nightmare.

Not the garden variety bad dream, but the first time they woke up in the weird dawn light, confused and eerily quiet, and they crept out of bed with forbidden footsteps to go searching for the one person who could convince you that everything was okay.

I remember. I was about three years old. I had a dream that my father and I were walking from our house to the Children's Museum. When we got there, the door was locked, daddy couldn't open it. Then, out of nowhere, a GIANT BUMBLEBEE came zooming towards us down the abandoned street. It flew towards my father, and he batted it away. Then it rushed towards me... and I woke up.

I tiptoed down the stairs to my mommy and daddy's room, and told my mom I had a scary dream. She grumbled something about being sorry, and groaned quietly as she looked at her bedside table. Then she murmured something about it being okay, and although the feeling of unease still hovered around me, the very real presence of my very real mother made the rest of the world feel more tangible. My nervous energy from dream began to fade.

Strangely enough, she later told me that her own first nightmare was about a bumblebee as well.

Recently, began to wonder how old most children are when they have that first real nightmare. SI and DD are definitely around the age I was for mine, and their imagination play has developed to a point where a nightmare seemed pretty inevitable.

They like to pretend they have scary dreams, but their descriptions of these dreams are always the same.

"Mommy? I had a nightmare."

"I'm sorry, pumpkin. What happened?"

"There was a mean radish, and it ate up all the other radishes."

In case you're wondering, that is a near perfect description of a scene from one of their favorite movies. (Seriously- check out 4:22.) It is the only "nightmare" they know.

Until last night.

Last night, I was up writing until nearly three am. I crawled into bed and managed to pass out from sheer exhaustion, despite the weirdness of not having M in bed with me. A mere four hours later, I heard my door creak open, and the sound of suppressed crying. I looked up to see DD, bedheaded and red eyed, standing in the door.

"Whassamaddahpunken," I managed to sigh out. Not my most comforting moment, I'm sure.

"Mommy..." she said, and broke into tears. I closed my eyes again threw my arm into the air, gesturing her into a hug, and she dove into the bed. She curled up next to me and cried into my shoulder.

"Sokaysweetie... sokay.." I yawned over her, and kissed patches of forehead between the curls.

I drifted in and out of consciousness while she clutched my shoulder and whispered, "I love you," over and over again. It must have been a doozy.

With a near Herculean effort, I opened my eyes again. The sun had risen over the top of the trees across the lake, the world was full of golden tones and the sounds of birds and crickets and toads.The light glinting like diamonds off the gently rippled surface of the water was excruciating.

"What happened in your dream, honey?" I yawned again.

"Mommy... Mommy... Mommy, I dreamed you and SI went away and you weren't going to live with me anymore." And she burst back into tears.

Now I felt like the biggest jerk in the world. Here I was, totally unable to achieve consciousness enough to comfort my daughter, and her nightmare had been that I didn't love her anymore.

"Oh, sweeite..." I hugged her as tightly as I could, and scooped her under the blanket with me.

"Sweetheart, I love you so much. I won't ever leave you. I'll live with you until you're all grown up, and then for as long as you want to live with me."

"I love you."

"I love you too, pumpkin."

"Me too."

"I love you."

"I miss Daddy."

"Yeah honey, I do too..."

Eventually I managed to get a bit more of the dream out of her. She couldn't cross a road, and I took SI into a river. Something like that.

And the thing is, this is something I know she's going to remember. Forever. She's never going to forget finding her way out of her dark room, sneaking out of the bed she and SI are sharing, waking me up and my useless mumbles. She's never going to forget being scared of whatever was in that dream that frightened her so much. She'll never forget how it felt to wake up and not know if I really had gone.

I hope I managed to make it, overall, a good memory. I hope she'll remember that I rubbed her back and kissed her cheek and told her how much I adored her. I hope she remembers that after a while, SI jumped in the bed with us, and the three of us cuddled and talked about going to get Daddy at Aunt Genocide's house tomorrow, and that there was laughter and smiles and I actually kept my eyes open.

I hope she remembers how small she was, and that I was there to comfort her.

I hope there's always someone there to comfort her.

A Day in the Life of Yours Truly

You're about to witness this... and more!

I realized that I haven't done a Day in the Life post in... years!  Can you believe I've been a parent long enough that "years" can actual describe a span of time within my parenthood experience?

Anyway... here you go- from dawn until well after dusk, yesterday.  So now you will know all about the insanity in which I live.

I slept late.  Perhaps this was because I hate mornings, or perhaps this was because the previous day's fast had given me a raging migraine, which I had treated with ample quantities of codeine before bed.  In either case, the moment M left for work, all three children woke up simultaneously.  It was like magic.  I crammed a marzipan banana into my face (if it's candy that LOOKS like fruit, it's pretty much fruit, right?) and went off to collect my children from their beds.

As RH seemed content to look at her mobile (based on her happy coos over the monitor), I started with the big girls.

RH was happy all right.  She watched her big sisters trash her room while I made their breakfast- green eggs.

While the girls *allegedly* ate their eggs, I made their lunches for school.  RH let me know that she was done cooperating, and it was time for her to eat too.

I took her into the living room to feed her, while the girls *allegedly* ate their eggs.  DD came into the room, and announced that she had finished.  When I told her to bring me her empty plate, she returned to her chair to finish her meal.  SI then came running, insisting that she had finished her meal.  Smelling the freshest bullshit, I sent her back to finish her eggs, warning her that little girls who don't eat breakfast don't get to go to school.  I finished feeding RH.

Surprise, surprise, SI had NOT eaten her eggs.  Thereafter followed a bout of shouting and threats not to take her to school, while DD got cleaned up (having finished her delicious eggs like a rock star) and picked out her clothes.  SI got dressed in a hectic rush, and as per usual, we didn't get out of the houes until the children were already supposed to be at school.  Which SI got to go to anyway.  Because I'm a softie.

The girls' school is near the synagogue, so I took the opportunity to stop in and learn about the Sukkot happenings this year.  My children, as usual, went running into their preschool classroom and didn't look back at me once.  I enjoy this every bit as much as I thought I would.

In her typical fashion, RH spent the time in the car spitting up stuff that looked like curdled cheese.  First order of business when we got home, a change of clothes for her.

My first form of sustenance after my marzipan banana.  And, I believe, a full third of all the liquid I imbibed during this day.  I'm terrible at adulthood.  While I drank my juice, I pounded out a few hundred words about Mitt Romney.

After my daily blogging-for-pay, I fed the baby again.  I've been in the process of putting the nursery together for the last month, and it's finally getting close to done.  Only two things left, and then you'll even get a blog post about them!  At any rate, this is probably my new favorite spot in the house.

RH nursed herself to sleep, and I put her in her crib to enjoy the rarest of mommy pleasures...

That's right, bitches.  I got to take a SHOWER.  What you may not know about mothering preschoolers is, if you wish to take a shower while they are home and awake, you are actually going to perform "The Shower Show."  I do not like performing The Shower Show.  Too many questions asked of the performer.  After my shower, I changed shirts (accidentally dropped the old one in what appeared to be a small puddle of toddler urine- oops) and then did laundry.  For a whole hour.

My first *real* food of the day.  Breakfast links and raisin bread.  I'm counting it as a meal.

While eating, I read some blog posts.

After reading about all sorts of sad and happy things and scarfing down my "meal," I woke up RH, put her back in her car seat, and went to collect her sisters.

They spent the entire drive home telling me about a boy in their class.  That happened fast.  After getting home, I put away clean diapers, and SI pooped in the potty!  She got a neminem!

It being snack time, DD had an epic meltdown, caused by my insistence that she put RH's weeble-wobbles back in their drawer.  She hid in the corner behind the glider clutching them to her chest and weeping long enough for me to collect the camera from the bathroom, laugh at her uproariously, and snap this picture.  For our snack, we had Cheerios on the couch, while watching cartoons.

Well, SI and DD had Cheerios, anyway.

During the cartoons, I took care of a pointy little problem.

RH fell asleep, so I put on something else, set her in her swing...

And reaped my reward.

...and then I did more laundry.

The girls played dressups with my shoes, and colored on some paper while I folded and whatnot...

...and then RH woke up.  So we cleaned the room for a dance party!

DANCE PARTY!

Then I took some phone calls...

...lots of phone calls.  SI's speech therapist, LifeSouce, the receptionist at my doctor's office, the girls' pediatrician confirming an appointment, several junk calls, a pollster, and a neighbor.

After that, it was tummy time.  RH almost rolled over!  She was SO CLOSE!

Then we Skyped with Grandma.  And RH ate some more.  And DD and SI wreaked havoc in the living room

But then DD peed on the floor, so... you know... not her best moment.

I did dishes and made dinner for the girls while they played in RH's room.  That is to say, while they completely and utterly trashed RH's room with a combination of "Baseball" and "Five Little Monkeys," which they learned in school.

Dinner!

After dinner, the girls trashed the living room.

...while RH ate again.

A Cease Fire rally went by right down our street, which was a source of much fascination.

And then it was bedtime!  I didn't take a lot of pictures of this, as I didn't want to add any more excitement to the routine than was necessary.  But we read "The Three Kings" and "The Little Fur Family."  And then my littles crawled into their beds, and passed the eff out.

Then I ate some fudge.  I felt I'd earned it.

...and then I made a hotdish for dinner.  Because all I'd eaten had been breakfast links and raisin bread and a s'more and a marzipan banana, and I was too tired to bother cooking something complicated.  Plus, no clue when M would come home.  He was working up to a deadline, and has been putting in tons of overtime.

While dinner cooked, I put RH in her pajamas...

...and then both of us ate.

...and I caught up on some Words With Friends.

...and had some more fudge.

Joy of joys, my husband returned!  Just as he managed to leave the house the moment the children gained consciousness for the day, he managed to arrive mere moments after I had assured myself that they were all asleep.  How does he do that?

We watched some Daily Show...

I sorted out gifts arriving for the impending THIRD BIRTHDAY...

We learned some sad news that M had been following religiously...

And then we got ready to go to bed.

My exhausted husband...

We exhausted parents...

Let's do it again tomorrow.