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Showing posts with label bedtime routines. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bedtime routines. Show all posts
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Past Deadline: Losing Sleep Over It
Here’s the latest Past Deadline, published Feb. 28/13 in The Perth Courier.
Losing sleep over it
Sleep, or the potential lack of it, was on my mind last weekend.
See, both children had sleepovers on the weekend. My hairdresser calls them “stay overs,” since not much sleeping takes place.
Boychild was off at a friend’s house for his late-night adventure and came home a little bleary eyed.
Girlchild’s event was at our house. It was the first time a friend has stayed over, and it was the first non-family sleepover for Girlchild’s friend, so it was a Momentous Occasion™.
Since the girls amassed more than eight solid hours’ sleep, which is several hours more than I’d counted on, I am going to call it a success.
As usual, I got less. I think I subconsciously anticipated being awakened at all hours, so I stayed up later than I should have reading a good book. Staying up late didn’t stop my silly busy brain from waking me up too early in order to toss and turn.
What is UP with that? I mean, as parents we survive the sleepless years of feedings and diaper changes and bad dreams and barfies and cats doing stupid things (Buster, may he rest in peace, was famous for yowling around the house, while MacGregor loves to rattle metal window blinds) – and for what?
Just when the kids can find the bathroom on their own in the night and no one needs to be fed at 3 a.m., the adult brain decides to start goofing around and preventing sleep. Frustrating!
I have always preferred to get things done before going to bed rather than getting up early to finish a task. I always figured my alarm wouldn’t go off or I would hit snooze too many times. Now it seems I have finally developed an internal alarm clock that I kind of wish I didn’t have.
It appears I am turning into my parents. I could never understand why, even when my brother and I were teenagers and slept in on weekends, my parents would be up at the crack of dawn as usual – like any other regular work day.
It’s not that I want to sleep in until all hours. Sleeping too long feels like a waste of the day and then I have trouble sleeping the next night. But waking up two hours before the alarm goes off is just…well…annoying, especially when I already stay up too late. I shudder to think of what time I would be up if I went to bed earlier.
Sure, as a “grown up” there are lots of things to “lose sleep over.” I mean, we probably all think about money and work and kids and volunteering and things that could go wrong and falling pianos and committee meetings and the elderly cat and that thing you did when you were 17 and genetic mutations and funny sounds and where the lost things went and so on. Right?
(Have you seen that TV commercial for the nighttime pain reliever? “What if the hokey pokey really IS what it’s all about?” Hehehe.)
Most of the topics that wake me up seem so much worse before the sun rises and the first coffee is had, but sometimes it’s just too darned early to get up despite the fact tossing and turning is unproductive.
Once I am upright, mobile and caffeinated, however, the world seems much more manageable. Well mostly. At least I can start doing something about it instead of lying around fretting.
For now I will gladly take whatever sleep comes and will seek inspiration from peeking at the kids and the elderly cat when they are blissfully snoozing. Some herbal tea probably wouldn’t hurt….
Losing sleep over it
Sleep, or the potential lack of it, was on my mind last weekend.
See, both children had sleepovers on the weekend. My hairdresser calls them “stay overs,” since not much sleeping takes place.
Boychild was off at a friend’s house for his late-night adventure and came home a little bleary eyed.
Girlchild’s event was at our house. It was the first time a friend has stayed over, and it was the first non-family sleepover for Girlchild’s friend, so it was a Momentous Occasion™.
Since the girls amassed more than eight solid hours’ sleep, which is several hours more than I’d counted on, I am going to call it a success.
As usual, I got less. I think I subconsciously anticipated being awakened at all hours, so I stayed up later than I should have reading a good book. Staying up late didn’t stop my silly busy brain from waking me up too early in order to toss and turn.
What is UP with that? I mean, as parents we survive the sleepless years of feedings and diaper changes and bad dreams and barfies and cats doing stupid things (Buster, may he rest in peace, was famous for yowling around the house, while MacGregor loves to rattle metal window blinds) – and for what?
Just when the kids can find the bathroom on their own in the night and no one needs to be fed at 3 a.m., the adult brain decides to start goofing around and preventing sleep. Frustrating!
I have always preferred to get things done before going to bed rather than getting up early to finish a task. I always figured my alarm wouldn’t go off or I would hit snooze too many times. Now it seems I have finally developed an internal alarm clock that I kind of wish I didn’t have.
It appears I am turning into my parents. I could never understand why, even when my brother and I were teenagers and slept in on weekends, my parents would be up at the crack of dawn as usual – like any other regular work day.
It’s not that I want to sleep in until all hours. Sleeping too long feels like a waste of the day and then I have trouble sleeping the next night. But waking up two hours before the alarm goes off is just…well…annoying, especially when I already stay up too late. I shudder to think of what time I would be up if I went to bed earlier.
Sure, as a “grown up” there are lots of things to “lose sleep over.” I mean, we probably all think about money and work and kids and volunteering and things that could go wrong and falling pianos and committee meetings and the elderly cat and that thing you did when you were 17 and genetic mutations and funny sounds and where the lost things went and so on. Right?
(Have you seen that TV commercial for the nighttime pain reliever? “What if the hokey pokey really IS what it’s all about?” Hehehe.)
Most of the topics that wake me up seem so much worse before the sun rises and the first coffee is had, but sometimes it’s just too darned early to get up despite the fact tossing and turning is unproductive.
Once I am upright, mobile and caffeinated, however, the world seems much more manageable. Well mostly. At least I can start doing something about it instead of lying around fretting.
For now I will gladly take whatever sleep comes and will seek inspiration from peeking at the kids and the elderly cat when they are blissfully snoozing. Some herbal tea probably wouldn’t hurt….
Friday, February 3, 2012
Past Deadline: Night Owl No More?
I have always been a night owl.
I prefer to get things done before bed so I don’t lie awake worrying about them. Some folks prefer to get up early to do unfinished things, but I like my snooze button too much for that to be effective.
I’m no early bird. Long ago I concluded any pledge to get up early to exercise would fail. Since I work from home and the kids walk to school, I don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to commute. Consequently, the night owl thing has worked.
When my kids were wee, it was a perfect system. I’d be busy with them during the day, which meant I might not get as much business done, but they went to bed super early. This opened up several hours in the evening to work. In those days, my brain was alert and creative and good to go at night. I’ve always been that way.
Until now.
Is this another “perk” of turning 40? I see why people pretend they are 39 for a decade or so. Perhaps denial would solve a few issues. (Would it work on my stupid foot, do you think?)
Anyway, I’ll be the first to admit that I probably haven’t been getting enough sleep since about 1989, but it appears my body doesn’t want to put up with my guff anymore.
For example, you’d think the temptation to nap could be a huge issue for someone who works from home. I’ll admit, I did take a few naps when I was pregnant and when the kids were wee babies, but generally the thought doesn’t cross my mind at all. In the last few months, however, I’ll walk past the bedroom and look at my cosy bed and experience an intense pull of longing for a nap. So far I have resisted.
A big factor in this is the fact the kids are older and stay up later. The younger one in particular has an exceptional talent for stalling at bedtime, which she (ahem) comes by naturally. She’ll try every trick in the book – water, Band Aids, lotion, some sort of medication, stories, bad dreams, general goofiness, etc.
Have you heard of the hilarious bestselling “children’s book for adults” by Adam Mansbach called Go the F*** to Sleep? I wept when I read it. This is my life.
Peace and solitude in the evening have been replaced by homework and housework and noise and corralling. The time available for getting things done has shrunk dramatically, especially if one desires even a little bit of time to unwind, which is kind of important in that whole work-life balance equation. (Work-life what?)
So now there is a short period of time once the kids are settled when Groom-boy and I fall into chairs and go over the day’s events and watch a little TV. Woohoo!
There is, however, still this need of mine to get things done before bed. The lunches get made and the schoolbags get packed, but then there is “the list.” This is the other stuff: volunteer work, unanswered phone calls or e-mails from friends, etc. In the short window available the brain refuses to fire enough to get it all done anymore.
Why? Apparently I am tired. Go figure.
I’m putting on my pyjamas about three hours earlier than usual, but I’m staying up just as late and getting less done.
The other night I put on my pyjamas and said to Groom-boy, “You know, I think I understand now why some grown-ups go to bed at 9:30.” Of course those people are probably up at 5.
I suppose that’s not much different from my current reality. Now, instead of lying awake late worrying about what isn’t done, I stay up too late and go right to sleep, only to wake up too early to worry about what isn’t done.
Perhaps if I went to bed earlier, I would just get up when I wake up. D’ya think?
This means I should...gulp...change my routine.
I hate changing my routine.
Imagine getting more rest! Ridiculous. Well, if I must...zzzzzz....
Published in The Perth Courier, Feb. 2/12
I prefer to get things done before bed so I don’t lie awake worrying about them. Some folks prefer to get up early to do unfinished things, but I like my snooze button too much for that to be effective.
I’m no early bird. Long ago I concluded any pledge to get up early to exercise would fail. Since I work from home and the kids walk to school, I don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to commute. Consequently, the night owl thing has worked.
When my kids were wee, it was a perfect system. I’d be busy with them during the day, which meant I might not get as much business done, but they went to bed super early. This opened up several hours in the evening to work. In those days, my brain was alert and creative and good to go at night. I’ve always been that way.
Until now.
Is this another “perk” of turning 40? I see why people pretend they are 39 for a decade or so. Perhaps denial would solve a few issues. (Would it work on my stupid foot, do you think?)
Anyway, I’ll be the first to admit that I probably haven’t been getting enough sleep since about 1989, but it appears my body doesn’t want to put up with my guff anymore.
For example, you’d think the temptation to nap could be a huge issue for someone who works from home. I’ll admit, I did take a few naps when I was pregnant and when the kids were wee babies, but generally the thought doesn’t cross my mind at all. In the last few months, however, I’ll walk past the bedroom and look at my cosy bed and experience an intense pull of longing for a nap. So far I have resisted.
A big factor in this is the fact the kids are older and stay up later. The younger one in particular has an exceptional talent for stalling at bedtime, which she (ahem) comes by naturally. She’ll try every trick in the book – water, Band Aids, lotion, some sort of medication, stories, bad dreams, general goofiness, etc.
Have you heard of the hilarious bestselling “children’s book for adults” by Adam Mansbach called Go the F*** to Sleep? I wept when I read it. This is my life.
Peace and solitude in the evening have been replaced by homework and housework and noise and corralling. The time available for getting things done has shrunk dramatically, especially if one desires even a little bit of time to unwind, which is kind of important in that whole work-life balance equation. (Work-life what?)
So now there is a short period of time once the kids are settled when Groom-boy and I fall into chairs and go over the day’s events and watch a little TV. Woohoo!
There is, however, still this need of mine to get things done before bed. The lunches get made and the schoolbags get packed, but then there is “the list.” This is the other stuff: volunteer work, unanswered phone calls or e-mails from friends, etc. In the short window available the brain refuses to fire enough to get it all done anymore.
Why? Apparently I am tired. Go figure.
I’m putting on my pyjamas about three hours earlier than usual, but I’m staying up just as late and getting less done.
The other night I put on my pyjamas and said to Groom-boy, “You know, I think I understand now why some grown-ups go to bed at 9:30.” Of course those people are probably up at 5.
I suppose that’s not much different from my current reality. Now, instead of lying awake late worrying about what isn’t done, I stay up too late and go right to sleep, only to wake up too early to worry about what isn’t done.
Perhaps if I went to bed earlier, I would just get up when I wake up. D’ya think?
This means I should...gulp...change my routine.
I hate changing my routine.
Imagine getting more rest! Ridiculous. Well, if I must...zzzzzz....
Published in The Perth Courier, Feb. 2/12
Monday, January 14, 2008
Return of the Banshee
A while ago, I wrote about how Girlchild (she who is most definitely two) had started a freaky new trick that involved a someone-is-sawing-my-arm-off kind of screaming at bedtime and naptime. You can read about those good old days here.
It was, as predicted, a fairly short-lived phase. Once groom-boy and I stopped running into her room breathlessly fearing the worst and ready to bludgeon some armed torturer, she got tired of yelling. After about a week life returned to its non-shrieking normalcy - whatever that is.
Well, guess what? The banshee's back and she's as bloodcurdling as ever.
Bedtime used to be my absolute favourite time of the day because I knew I would soon have some quality time to spend with my computer - I mean with myself or with groom-boy. Seriously, though, as fine as the quiet time is, I love bedtime for the ritual of it. We started developing a good routine with both kids when they were babies and it is a lovely time featuring a nice bath, cosy PJs, a bit of milk for Girlchild, brushing the teeth, a few stories, tuck in, kiss kiss, good night. It's all so warm and sweet and innocent and aw shucks hot chocolaty.
I miss those days.
We're at the stage with Girlchild where she bucks every routine. She doesn't want to get into the tub and then she doesn't want to get out. She sometimes struggles over donning her diaper and fights the PJ choice. If there's time for two stories she'll pick six. Now she insists upon reading them to me (which is actually kind of cute). Then we struggle over brushing teeth. Then we have to decide which books and friends will join her in her crib. Oh, did I say "we" and "decide" in the same sentence? Silly me.
By the time I dole out hugs and kisses, say goodnight and close the door I feel as if I have run a mile while having an argument, which actually isn't saying much since I'm so out of shape. You get the idea, though.
Then the screaming starts. (Not mine, hers - although I'm tempted.)
It can be for various reasons - a drink, another hug, to retrieve dropped books, to "snugaminute" (which is hard to resist), but it sounds as if she is being hung upside down by her toenails. We usually end up making at least a couple of return visits. Our responses have varied from complying with her request to merely peeking in the door and telling her "goodnight" again to doing the old timer trick (waiting five minutes, ten minutes and so on before going in).
That girl has stamina, though, not to mention lungs, and the sitting-it-out strategy isn't working so well this time. Groom-boy and I have often commented - rather - shouted to each other over the noise that we expect her head is spinning around in circles and perhaps we should have the exorcist on speed dial. She is LOUD! And a bit scary, too.
Her brother, Vern, who is a newly minted six-year-old, says we should go in, tell her we're going to get what she wants and then never come back and she'll fall asleep while she waits. Uh huh. I'm afraid to try it due to the psychological implications: "And they NEVER came back," she'll be telling some therapist in 20 years. "I waited and waited for my sippy cup, but they NEVER brought it." I also suspect someone this fiery is unlikely to just drift off to sleep while waiting. You never know, though. Sometimes Vern has her pegged. He also has to try to sleep through the Din That Never Ends, so I feel for him and applaud his efforts to find a solution.
Hopefully this little bump in the bedtime routine will iron itself quickly like the last time - and before we all go deaf.
It was, as predicted, a fairly short-lived phase. Once groom-boy and I stopped running into her room breathlessly fearing the worst and ready to bludgeon some armed torturer, she got tired of yelling. After about a week life returned to its non-shrieking normalcy - whatever that is.
Well, guess what? The banshee's back and she's as bloodcurdling as ever.
Bedtime used to be my absolute favourite time of the day because I knew I would soon have some quality time to spend with my computer - I mean with myself or with groom-boy. Seriously, though, as fine as the quiet time is, I love bedtime for the ritual of it. We started developing a good routine with both kids when they were babies and it is a lovely time featuring a nice bath, cosy PJs, a bit of milk for Girlchild, brushing the teeth, a few stories, tuck in, kiss kiss, good night. It's all so warm and sweet and innocent and aw shucks hot chocolaty.
I miss those days.
We're at the stage with Girlchild where she bucks every routine. She doesn't want to get into the tub and then she doesn't want to get out. She sometimes struggles over donning her diaper and fights the PJ choice. If there's time for two stories she'll pick six. Now she insists upon reading them to me (which is actually kind of cute). Then we struggle over brushing teeth. Then we have to decide which books and friends will join her in her crib. Oh, did I say "we" and "decide" in the same sentence? Silly me.
By the time I dole out hugs and kisses, say goodnight and close the door I feel as if I have run a mile while having an argument, which actually isn't saying much since I'm so out of shape. You get the idea, though.
Then the screaming starts. (Not mine, hers - although I'm tempted.)
It can be for various reasons - a drink, another hug, to retrieve dropped books, to "snugaminute" (which is hard to resist), but it sounds as if she is being hung upside down by her toenails. We usually end up making at least a couple of return visits. Our responses have varied from complying with her request to merely peeking in the door and telling her "goodnight" again to doing the old timer trick (waiting five minutes, ten minutes and so on before going in).
That girl has stamina, though, not to mention lungs, and the sitting-it-out strategy isn't working so well this time. Groom-boy and I have often commented - rather - shouted to each other over the noise that we expect her head is spinning around in circles and perhaps we should have the exorcist on speed dial. She is LOUD! And a bit scary, too.
Her brother, Vern, who is a newly minted six-year-old, says we should go in, tell her we're going to get what she wants and then never come back and she'll fall asleep while she waits. Uh huh. I'm afraid to try it due to the psychological implications: "And they NEVER came back," she'll be telling some therapist in 20 years. "I waited and waited for my sippy cup, but they NEVER brought it." I also suspect someone this fiery is unlikely to just drift off to sleep while waiting. You never know, though. Sometimes Vern has her pegged. He also has to try to sleep through the Din That Never Ends, so I feel for him and applaud his efforts to find a solution.
Hopefully this little bump in the bedtime routine will iron itself quickly like the last time - and before we all go deaf.
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