The State of the Nap 2010

We're on day 3 of Heath's nap sabbatical, and I will call it a sabbatical because I refuse to believe that he has suddenly gone cold-turkey and it's never going to happen again. It is slowly, but surely, killing me.

It wouldn't be so bad if 1) he was a child who leaned in the direction of quiet play, 2) Stella didn't enjoy her two-three hour nap at the same time, 3) Stella would enjoy a two-three hour nap when there is something else going on in the house. She won't. If she knows someone is up, she seems to feel the need to join the party. And 4) the evening didn't turn into one cataclysmic meltdown after another when he doesn't nap.

So, Heath and I are basically camping out in my bedroom for 2 hours while I gently coax him into napping. We watch Between the Lions, a soothing choice from PBS. We read a few books. And then I whisper, Okay, we're going to rest. It's the same routine we've praticed every motherflippin' day for who knows how long. And now suddenly, No, thank you, he says. Polite, sure. But maddening, nonetheless.

When my sweet, soft urging falls flat, I move to a different tactic. Bribery. Maybe we'll have some ice cream when we get up from our refreshing nap. Won't that be yummy? Heath, not one to be a foodie, isn't impressed with this offer. Where's Santa?

He's at the North Pole. Maybe we can try to find Santa after our nap, I hopefully suggest, wondering how I'll swing a Santa sighting if this does the trick.

Santa. Ice cream. Playing at the park promise. This kid isn't budging. So I decide, maybe I'll just close my eyes and he'll follow suit, especially if I leave the choice up to him.

Here are the books. You can read through these, and chat with yourself and Puppy, that's fine. Mama's going to shut her eyes for bit. I roll over, feeling a little sure this has done the trick. He's flipping pages and muttering about Chinchillas. I've almost drifted off...

Mama, he whispers. Well, Heath's version of a whisper is more of a breathy, low-toned voice. Mama, you done resting. And that's when I get a finger in my eye and my eyelid is lifted up.

At this point, my only choice is to plead. And when I plead with Heath, the battle is over. And I never win. Please, please, please, let's just take this time to recharge. We'll feel so much better.

You can't say no, mom. This has become a favorite phrase. You can't say no.

I'm not willing to throw in the towel just yet. But everytime I close my eyes, even when I tell him I'm meditating, not sleeping, I get an eyelid jerked-up.

In an effort to preserve at least one child's nap time, my plan tomorrow is to have an even bigger stack of books and a handy remote control for some PBS shows.

Ah, Mark is home. It's ice cream and Six Feet Under time.