Summertime at our house isn’t the laid-back, idyllic existence that I would like it to be. I have a full-time job, and my husband has a full-time job, and I paint ’til all hours and he does crazy things like train for triathlons. I can’t bear to pay for daycare, so our kids go somewhere different like every week. Grandma’s house, the other grandma’s house, my aunt’s house, the neighbor’s…. It’s not ideal, but we manage.
This week, my mom is staying with us and my dad came up for a couple days too. We have a three bedroom house, so the kids are constantly playing musical beds. They like to sleep in the backyard in a tent, but after awhile my back can’t take sleeping out there on the hard ground; since my husband can sleep anywhere, he gets a turn. Sometimes they “camp” in the living room, but that means everyone else has to go to bed at 9 p.m.
We have no routine. I’m tired and cranky. Last night the kids came into my room at least twice (and three times the night before.) They travel in a pack now. My daughter explained that she had a recurring nightmare that she fell off our friends’ deck and when she was just a centimeter from hitting the ground, she woke up.
It was 5:30 a.m.
I told her that I had just had a nightmare that two little kids kept coming into my room and waking me up even though I had to get up and go to work in the morning and really needed my sleep.
She said, “wow. that’s weird.”