Why Won't This Baby Sleep Through The Night?

Is it because I said I knew the trick to getting babies to sleep through the night? Is it because I naively and knowingly gave advice at baby showers everywhere?

All right, already. I'm sorry I ever said it.

I've learned my lesson.

I'll never claim to know anything ever again.

Now sleep, already, would ya?

Do You Ever Put Everything On Your Bed...

...so that you'll for sure put it away before you go to sleep and then you get to the end of the night and feel so utterly exhausted that it all goes right back onto the floor?

I do too.

Why Does Everyone Wet The Bed When Dallin Is Out Of Town?

And did you have to be sharing a bed with your brother and get him soaked too?
And why did it have to be on the makeshift bed on the floor made out of seven throw pillows and four blankets?
And why is it always on the bed that I just forgot to put the special water-proof pad on?
And if I'm going to stay up until 1 am reading, couldn't you wet the bed at 12:30 instead of 1:30?

And why does it feel better when it happens when Dallin is in town? Maybe it's the ounce of sympathy, the teaspoon of gratitude, the dash of pity, and the trace of a grimace that he gives me in the morning.

Baby, Can You Come on August 9th at 2 PM?

Then Nana will be here.

Then Daddy will be back from his trip.

By then, surely I'll have found the receiving blankets, washed the onesies, acquired a bassinet, put a casserole in the freezer, and rested for an hour.

That would be a good time for me. Do you mind scheduling that with Heaven?

Please RSVP.

And in the mean time, if you could scoot down out of the way of my lungs at night that would be great.

See you soon.

How Much Longer Will We Have A Full Moon?

Its been weeks of werewolves in kids' clothing. Aren't they supposed to revert to children when the moon wanes?

Shouting from top stair to bottom and from bottom stair to top. Shouting with tears.

And owies that are invisible and have not been mentioned for days, but now make it impossible to sleep. Owies that bring tears.

Tantrums over two measures of music. More tears.

Plastic cups, golf balls, and books ricocheting off heads. At least they all got a turn to cry.

Reminder medicine daily. Gagging. No tears.

Time outs every afternoon. No tears, maybe it's not working?

Miserable at the park, miserable at the party, miserable when there's a sub at school and they watch a movie. Tears all the way home.

I'm going to bed. I think I'll have a good cry and return when there's a total lunar eclipse. Apparently that's December 21, 2010.

Will You Check On Me Before You Go To Bed?

Naomi has asked this every night for about three years.

Sweetheart, I never miss and I never forget. This is the highlight of my day. It's the sacrament for parenting. It's the time when all is right with the world again. When there are no struggles and no interruptions. It's where I stand over you and marvel that you are mine. Regret the hurtful things I may have done through the day. Determine that tomorrow will be better. Adore your beautiful faces. And cherish your miraculous spirits. In these few moments I pray that you will remain steadfast and that you will find happiness. I beg the heavens that Grandma Barbara was right when she said that children are resilient. And I thank God for letting me have a chance with you.

Good Night.

Why Can't I Go To Bed Without Someone Here To Tell Me To?

Because when Dallin's away I read poetry late into the night. And watch BYU Devotionals. And look at James Christensen art and Norman Rockwell art, and even Jackson Pollock art online. And I dabble in the piano. And I chat with long lost girlfriends on the phone. And I go through my filing cabinets and throw stacks of stuff away. And then an hour after I fall into bed, someone small wets their bed. Or wets my bed. Or has a bad dream about bears.

When Dallin's away I get no sleep. I think I need a mother. I need the reverse of an alarm clock.