The Naptime Tango.

It is supposed to be naptime around here. And the reason I used the word, supposed, is because not everyone is napping.

Of course, Miss E is. Because she's a baby and her brother hasn't influenced her around it yet at her young age. But Mr. H is doing anything but napping.

Like most days.

I am beginning to see the end of his napping days and I am sad. Oh, so sad.

As soon as I mention lunch, the fight begins. H tells me he's not hungry and he's not tired. As lunch symbolizes naptime afterwards so he'd rather go without eating than have to take a nap.

Once I get him to eat lunch, he protests and tells me he needs just "five minutes" to play and then he will take a nap. Promise.

Hint: Don't ever take a promise from your two-almost-three-year-old.

He is not tired. And he doesn't want to be tired. Or so he says.

We go potty. Read a book. Say a prayer and sing a song. And the tango has begun.

Within minutes he is talking. Loudly.
No big deal, right?

Then I hear his little feet hit the floor and I know what's next.

There are no toys in the bedroom as this has detoured naptime in the past. He has a bookshelf full of books and a dresser stock full of clothes though. Both, of course, bolted to the wall. With him we have learned we can't ever be safe enough.

He'll usually grab a book, or five. And if he's really feeling like getting my goat he'll just take a whole shelf out.

Then it's time to stand at the gate and tell me he has to go potty. Again.

And he does. I swear he saves some potty just to use for a little naptime break.

I bring him back to bed. Tuck him in. Explain that it is naptime. Stay in bed. Or else.

He stays in bed alright and I hear "Good Morning, Mama. Are you ready for a wonderful day?" Only twenty or thirty times over until I walk down, look at him laying in his bed with his legs against the wall and inform him in order to wake up you must sleep first.

Apparently somedays I miss when he sleeps because he tries to tell me that he already slept.

On those rare days where he is just worn out enough, this will be enough and he will lay still the two minutes that it takes to fall asleep and I am golden.

But on the days that this is not enough, I soon hear the pitter patter of his feet on the floor. I hear the closet door open. Ha! Nothing in there anymore. I learned (the hard way, I might add) that anything in the closet needs to be up and out of his reach.

Next, is the dresser. Because when you are an almost three year old boy, it is fun to take all your clothes out of your drawers.

Maybe change your outfit. Once, or days like today, twice.


Or at very least sit in the drawer. Don't worry, soon after this picture was taken we got this under control.

Finally, once there is nothing more to destroy. Nothing more to make a mess of. He might, yes, he might, fall asleep.
Most likely not in his bed. But on the floor, or in the closet, or hanging halfway out of bed.


But sleeping nonetheless.


And it usually happens to be right about the time Miss E wakes up.