Bedtime Ritual

Every night, this is what I hear when I tuck Thatcher in bed:

"Mom, at night, if I have a bad dream, I will wake up and go into your room, and I will say to you guys, 'I had a bad dream, may I sleep with you?' Then you will say, 'Yes, yes, you may."

Every night.

The written word doesn't convey his matter of fact tone or the delight in his voice when he says, "You will say, 'Yes, yes, you may." It's pretty funny though.

I'm also delighted that he knows the difference between "can" and "may." He may look like Chad, but he clearly is displaying his mom's love of grammar at a young age.

The Cleanup Fairy

Danielle: "Thatcher, you need to pick up your toys so the cleanup fairy doesn't get them while you're sleeping."
Thatcher: "Maybe we'll just close the playroom door so she doesn't see them."

Fast Forward to an Hour Later...

Thatcher: "Mom, do you think you could pick up my junk so the cleanup fairy doesn't get it?"
Danielle: "I'd rather not, Thatcher. I didn't get it out. Plus, it is really hard for mommy to bend over to pick things up."
Thatcher: "Well, you could use your toe to get it."

Sleeper Cell

I'm not entirely convinced Hadley isn't part of some sort of Hamas sleeper cell, except for the fact that she just doesn't sleep. 20 months of no sleep - for her, for me, for Chad. Somehow, Thatcher can sleep through anything. I'm not even counting the last trimester of my pregnancy with her when I didn't sleep because of heartburn, constant trips to the bathroom, and the general discomfort of having an extra 35 pounds tacked on to your body.

We have been up since 2AM this morning. She screamed the entire time. She screamed for mommy, for daddy, for Thatcher, for her new Belle book, for hair (for some reason, she has a strange obsession with people's hair). At 5:15, I got her up for the day. She's happy as a lark. The rest of us...not so much.

Trust me, we've tried everything. We've Ferberized. We've Babywised. We've co-slept. We've slept on the floor in her room. Please, don't ask if we've tried (insert whatever it is you want to ask if we've tried) because, yes, we have.

I can't wait to have this next baby because I will get four nights of (relative) sleep in the hospital, and it will be bliss. Bliss.

Want a Cookie?

Well, it looks as though we may have survived the swine flu. To put it mildly, the kids are going insane after being cooped up in the house for six days. Hadley almost literally went insane from the meds she was on, but that's another story entirely. Yesterday, we decided to bake some sugar cookies to pass the time and give the Disney Channel a much needed break. I'm sure you're going to want some.

Pigs are Flying

My Aunt Margaret flew in for a long overdue visit Saturday morning.   I had visions of the two of us spending time in the kitchen, whipping up culinary delights as well as comfort meals to sock away in the freezer for the post-baby days.  We'd make scones and have tea in the afternoon; spend copious amounts of time at Wegmans; the Williams Sonoma Outlet had stocked up in anticipation of our arrival.  Sure, I hadn't quite figured out where the kids figured into all of this, but this is why they have a father.  Besides, they love to cook and would have gained some priceless lessons at Margaret's knee. 

Alas, the swine flu had other plans for our family.  Hadley started getting sick in the wee hours of Sunday morning.  Thatcher then developed the fever (or "feeber" as he likes to say) Monday morning.  A Monday afternoon doctor visit confirmed that H1N1 was paying us a visit.  Urgh.  We are now all on the antiviral, Tamiflu, to the tune of $475, which is enough money to make you sick even if you weren't in the first place.  At this point, I'm only on it as a preventative measure, and we pray that it stays that way.

So, Margaret got to spend her "vacation" cooking, cleaning, and sanitizing.  It was a huge blessing, but probably not the most relaxing trip.  We tried to convince her that it was selfish of her to leave and possibly expose others to the virus, but it didn't work.  Do we know how to entertain guests or what?

Although we're down, we're definitely not out in the humor department.  This afternoon, Thatcher looked at me and said, "Mom, why don't you get off the couch and make me sumpin (something) to eat."  I can't decide if that sounded more like Daddy, Papa Wayne, Papa Cecil, or Uncle Devin.  It's pretty much a tie.