Motherhood Is... Much Funnier After A Nap

(One of the blogs I read has a group writing project that I've procrastinated submitting to until this month. This is my submission. The topic for September is "Motherhood Is...")

I just woke up from my version of a nap. I "slept" on the futon in the living room along with a book, some diaper wipes, an empty yogurt container from lunch that I haven't gotten around to throwing away yet, and a few other things. All pushed to one end with enough room for my face right in the fabric, legs hanging off the end. Why? Because I was TIRED.

Isaac was taking one of his colossal--(I should be ecstatic)--3-4 hour afternoon naps. They are impossible to enjoy like I should because I spend the whole time checking on him, convinced he's died in there.

I put Jonah down for "rest-time". Which today meant hanging out on my bed (hence me on the futon) with lots and lots and lots of stickers. I figured that would buy me maybe 20 minutes before he began asking if rest-time was over yet (I say asking, but what I really mean is yelling from the top of the stairs). Or before he managed to get stuck under the bed.

Today I got fifteen minutes before the phone rang (apparently the new cordless phone we bought last week doesn't have the ability to turn OFF the ringer). Which means that I shot up off the futon trying to find the phone, which I always do when it wakes me up--because for some reason in my stupor I forget that I don't HAVE to answer it. And that I have an answering machine. By the time I found the phone (upstairs office) of course it was no longer ringing and I realized that I am a big idiot who should have stayed on the couch. (ok--futon. But I like to call it a couch because I may have one of those someday and it wouldn't do to call it a futon.)

My phone adventure broke Jonah's rest-time concentration. For some reason if I interrupt him at all while he's playing (or "resting") the spell is broken and he turns back into a pumpkin shaped hyper toddler who now wants me to make all his toys talk to him.

I've decided that children know that they are small and that their parents think they're stupid. So when necessary, they pull out the big guns just to level the playing field a bit.

"I see you BIG PERSON and I know that all you want from me is to be quiet for some amount of time that makes me feel like I will DIE. So I will ask you 57 times if quiet time is over because I can't tell time yet. And when you ignore me I will start yelling and shaking and dropping things at odd intervals to make you curious about what I am really doing up here until you make your decision: You want cleaning the hurricane that is now your room to not take all afternoon more than you want rest. Check Mate. "

Ah well. Fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes. I'll take it.