If you haven't ever been responsible for two kids that age, here's how it goes at the end of the day: played out, the exhausted toddler lays down. The other toddler observes, contemplates, and lays down as well.
Do not be deceived. This is how they set up the ambush.
After about 10 minutes, just when YOUR jangling nerves have calmed, the first toddler jerks in his sleep, and wakes up crying. The second toddler is thus disturbed, and wakes up crying as well. So, in the space of three seconds, you go from peaceful baby sleep to two screaming bundles of joy.
I am not lying to you.
Do NOT attempt to get them back to sleep right away. It is a waste of your time and efforts. The youth are in full-stage sleep resistance at this point.
It's time to SING!
They didn't like Glen Miller. They didn't like The Birdies. So, while Vanessa managed Eliott, I sang this little song to Logan, based on Shel Silverstein's 'Boa Constrictor' from "Where The Sidewalk Ends."
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
Boa constrictor, boa constrictor.
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it one bit!
Oh, no, he's eating my toe! (tickle Logan's toe)
Oh, me, he's eating my knee! (tickle Logan's knee
Oh, my, he's eating my thigh! (you gotta be careful here if it ain't your kid!)
And I don't like it one bit!
Oh, I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
Boa constrictor, boa constrictor.
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it one bit!
Oh, fiddle, he's eating my middle! (tickle Logan's belly)
I'll be blessed, he's eating my chest (tickle Logan under arms. Yes, I know that's not his chest.)
Oh, heck, he's eating my neck! (umm, you have this figured out, right?)
And I don't like it one bit!
Oh, I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
Boa constrictor, boa constrictor.
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it one bit!
(here comes the grand finale:)
Oh, dread, he's eating my grmph! (rub your hand all over Logan's head and face)
Do that three or four or eight or twelve times, and they settle down again, and will eventually go to sleep.
Then the two sets of parents come back from eating pie, and stand there awestruck at the fact that two old people have two sleeping babies, cuddled up in their arms. And they murmur:
"It's the Baby Whisperers!"
Yeah. Being a grandparent rocks. But as much as I love EVERY ONE of my multitude of grand babies, ranging from he-who-will-be-born in the next three weeks or so, to he-who-is 17, I think maybe if God asked me if I wanted us to have a baby at our ages, I'd ask for the deal Jonah got instead.
Shipwreck, three days in a fish belly, vomited up on land covered in fish slop, and then some street preaching in a hostile (of the 'kill you' type of hostile); or, spend the next several years with diapers, non-sleeping, fussy feeder, then 13 years of homework.
I'd give SERIOUS consideration to the fish.
On the other hand...when the little eyes light up, and the sweet little voice says 'Hi, Papa!' when I come into the room...
I'll keep the hand I've been dealt.
Starting with your own from scratch is a lot easier, Sanford tells me, than starting off with wild hertherns who have already been half-trained in a way that's not yours.
ReplyDeleteBut this doesn't apply to grandchildren, since you have them in little nibbles from the beginning.
This is a remarkably accurate assessment of the problems blended parents have. I was a stepchild, and now I have step-children, and at some point, I may write a blog on that. Heck, I could write a BOOK on that. Two books. Heck, even if I didn't rely on personal family experience, but just what I observed in 16+ years as a middle school counselor, I could write a series!
DeletePlease do write about it! We need all the help we can get.
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