me time

Ah, the great 1:15 pm stampede upstairs for nap time/quiet time/me time. It's one of my favorite times of day. There is relief [FINALLY]. There is excitement [I might get some time alone!]. There is intrigue [Who will actually stay in their room the whole time and sleep/play like they're supposed to?]. There is crushing disappointment [Why do you not want to nap? Why will you not stay in bed? Why do you need to poop NOW?]. It's a wonderful time.

As soon as it hits 1:15, I scoop up Sebastian under one arm and some stuffed animals under the other arm. I grab my phone and the baby monitor in one hand and two boys' worth of snacks in the other hand. I ask Lucas if he needs to go to the bathroom and call for Finley to start heading upstairs. When met with silence, I wait the Good and Patient Parent's amount of time [approximately 15 seconds] before asking Lucas again if he needs to go to the bathroom and call for Finley again to start heading upstairs. When met with more silence, I wait the Not-As-Good-and-Patient Parent's amount of time [approximately 2 seconds] before threatening the consumption of aforementioned snacks if I don't immediately hear some responses and/or pitter-pattering of feet heading my way. By this point, Sebi's alter ego, Mr. Squirmo Pants, is emerging and he's getting fussy either about A) being held the way he's being held or B) being hungry or C) being sleepy.

Finally, after toilets have been flushed and hands have been washed and animals have somehow been found and then lost again and both boys have forgotten what we're supposed to be doing several times over, we are all en route up the stairs. Finley gets through the bottom gate first and commences his slow and not at all steady ascent, arms filled with a panda, a fox, a turtle, and his snack bowl. Lucas dangerously squeezes past him on the second step in his unannounced race to be the first to the top, dropping one of his six stuffed animals every third step, with the unspoken expectation that I somehow manage to gather them for him during my climb. Sebastian is doing frog kicks into Finley's back as I try to herd Finley up the stairs just a wee bit faster than tortoise. By now, Lucas is announcing his triumphant victory and reminding us of the consequences of whoever loses the stair race [generally in the form of declaring him or her as some inedible eggplant dish]. Seventeen years later, Finley and the rest of us arrive at the top of the stairs.

I drop Lucas and his bowl of snacks off in our guest/play/pink room. Door closed. One down.

I sit with Finley as he eats his two animal crackers. I sing him a medley of Jesus Loves Me, Jesus Loves the Little Children, and Row, Row, Row Your Boat. He drinks some water. He flings himself into bed. I give him a dozen and a half instructions on what is expected of him during this nap time. Door closed. Two down.

I nurse Sebi, change his diaper, swaddle him, and plop him into his crib. Door closed. Three down.

And then I wait.

I wait for Lucas to announce he can't find one of his animals or that he needs help with his sticker book or that he needs to go to the bathroom. I wait for Finley to climb out of bed several times or need help finding one of his animals or need another drink of water or, worst case scenario, refuse to go to sleep at all. I wait for Sebastian to start crying because he's still hungry or he has a burp or he needs to spit up. I just sit on the edge of my bed and wait. It's the waiting game of all waiting games.

And today? I won the game.

Lucas didn't need anything.
Finley didn't need anything.
Sebastian didn't need anything.

Game. Set. Match.

And my reward? I got to sit here and write this post. It seems a little circular, to want them all to go down so I can write a post about them all going down, but... that's the beauty of me time. I get to do whatever I want. ;) It is absolutely lovely.

Oh! Also! I wanted to write a post today so I could remember the following story:
Finley dove into bed and whomped his head good on the bottom of the top bunk, and he, of course, started wailing and wailing. His wailing made Sebastian wail and wail. Finley, mid-sobs, managed to say, "It's, it's okay, Sebi. Don't cry. Me is, me is okay, Sebi. It's okay now." And it was the sweetest thing alive.

I love my crew. And my 30 minutes of peace and quiet. Cheers to the days where I get both!

apple slices up on top

Lunchtime is always the same around here. Lucas gets a bowl with a peanut butter sandwich cut into halves with apple slices, peel on. Finley gets a bowl with a peanut butter sandwich cut into fourths with apple slices, peel off. Sebastian gets milk. Jason gets whatever is the easiest lunch option he can think up. And I get a plate of something that the boys immediately deem is the only thing they've ever wanted to eat ever.

Today I was distracted and accidentally put Lucas's lunch bowl at Finley's spot at the table and Finley's bowl at Lucas's. The boys sat down at the table and started eating. As usual they both started on their apples first. They were each about halfway through their first slice of apple when Lucas suddenly announced, "Finley, I think our bowls are switched. You have my lunch and I have your lunch."

Now, since they had already started eating the other's lunch, and in fact were still holding each other's half eaten apple in their hands, it was a toss up about what reaction would happen next. A wailing fit would not have surprised me too much ("HE'S EATING MY APPLE!!"). A whiny request for me to do some overly complicated fix would have been unreasonable but also not unexpected. A "Why did you give us the wrong bowl? (Finley echo: "Why give bowl?") How could you not tell? (Finley echo: "How not tell?")" would have been acceptable.

But no. Instead, Lucas handed his bowl to Finley. Finley slid his bowl over to Lucas. They both held out their half-eaten apple slice to the other, exchanged them, and commenced eating the apple slice already half eaten by the other.

Brotherhood at its brother-iest.