Tag Archives: sleep

When your littles share a bedroom…

There are so many upsides to having the boys share a room. They play with all the same toys anyway. It feels like they are practically in the same size clothes. “Kid stuff” is mostly contained in one room of the house, rather than stashed in every nook and cranny. I believe it helps promote learning to share and respect and play and work together. Bonding. Yup, lots of reasons.

But there are also a couple of downsides.

Today at lunch Judah was yawning and ready for bed. Soon after he finished I changed him, read the boys stories, and put them in bed.

Several minutes later I heard giggling and slapping. I peeked in the door to see Judah on his knees, rocking side to side, slapping his thighs, grinning and “singing” loudly. (My kiwi friends will be pleased to know that I’m almost positive he was doing the “haka”.)

He was happy as a clam and hyper as a… a… I don’t know. A kid who ate fruit loops for lunch? (He didn’t, by the way.)

Of course Levi finds this hilarious so he is in his bed copying and laughing, until I open the door when he dives for cover and pretends to be sleeping.

Most days I’d work really hard to get the boys both sleeping at the same time (they really do need it, and so do I) but every once-and-a-while I just don’t bother. I figure – they’re happy and they will have days where they wind each other up too much. As long as they stay in there and give me some space, I can deal with a few shrieks of laughter and harmless “naughtiness” during nap time. They’ll go to bed early tonight and I’ll cross my fingers that there won’t be too many melt-downs in between.

And I must admit, it’s kind of fun to snoop through a cracked door and watch the boys bonding and having so much fun… even if it is during nap time.

 

Q for you: Did you share a room growing up? If so, do you have fond memories of it? If you have kids, do they share?

 

Love,
A

 


Groaning in the cold, dark

I lay in bed and the world around me is silent except for the sounds of life, resting.

A few feet away I hear tiny baby breaths and sighs. Next to me I hear heavy and rythmic husband breaths and sighs. And through the open internal door to the next room I hear toddler breaths and sighs.

We share rooms and a heater between the four of us.

Everyone sleeps but me.

Moments later baby stirs. I lay still, barely breathing, hoping he will not wake.

He rolls over. Back asleep.

I sigh with relief just as he stirs again, this time waking with an abrupt cry.

It sounds angry.

After eight months I wonder when he will ever sleep through the night. Except for a few nights he regularly wakes up all throughout the night. Sometimes every two hours, leaving me with four or five or sometimes six hours of sleep, usually broken into several chunks.

I groan and move, not wanting to face the cold night air.

No one said parenting would be easy.

I pull him into bed with me and nurse, nurse, nurse. Wondering how long I can continue on interrupted sleep (and insomnia in between).

I remember that mothers all over the world and all throughout time have done as I’m doing.

Strength.

The days are long but the years are short so I don’t want to waste this time being anxious about the dark hours.

And yet I’m so tired. So, so tired.

I remind myself that this time last year I was about to find out that his life might not be what we thought or expected. And now him being here with us, just like he is – healthy, perfect – is a miracle. Surely I can find the grace for one more night.

And perhaps tomorrow night too.

But my goodness, I’m so tired.

STOP.

 

Q for you: How do you cope with less-than-ideal seasons of sleep?

 

Love,
A

 

Click Clink Five | Five minutes a day, unedited


Life, unedited.

The clock ticks rudely and I never realized how loud the fridge really is.

Muffled laughter seeps in from the neighbors and I can hear a train several blocks away.

It’s noisy here in the quiet.

My house is a little messy, but it’s clean under those toys, thanks to Rose.

On the shelves sits a plant starting to droop, asking for a drink. I forgot again today. Even looking at it now, I think – she’ll be ok until tomorrow.

There’s a printed out calendar sheet on the fridge at waist level with big green numbers counting down the sleeps until we “take suitcase on pane to ‘merica”.

Several boxes of ziplock bags are stacked in the corner containing blades and gloves and soap and things that one might see as “stuff” and another might see as a chance at life.

A small pile of baby clothes outgrown, folded neatly on the chair. Ready to fly to an island to be traded for fish so they can clothe Jesus there.

My eyes blur, my jaws clenched (again), and my shoulders raised too close to my ears.

I think about the bathtub I hope to one day have.

Relax. Breathe. Sleep. Those things have been hard lately.

But there’s a strange sweetness in the struggle. Prayers in the form of one and two and three-word pleas.

He answers, you know.

I wait for it.

But sometimes the wait is hard.

And sometimes cookies really do make things better. (I never understood comfort food before. But now I want some cookies.)

He answers, you know.

 

STOP.

 

Love,
A

 

Click Clink Five| Five minutes a day, unedited

 


Awake

It’s 4:29am.

Last night I slept between the hours of midnight to 3am. Before that, unable to sleep, and then woken by Judah at 3:00.

After feeding him I laid in bed until 4:28, tossing and turning, eyes heavy, mind racing.

Sleep illusive.

So many thoughts run though my head in those hours of the night.

I listen to Ryan breathing heavily on one side of me, Judah breathing lightly on the other, wishing I oculd be asleep like them.

I think of Levi in the next room, and wonder things like “If I had held him more as a baby, would he be more affectionate now?” Only to follow it up with thoughts like, “I loved him fiercely and held him often. Of course he’d be the same. It’s not my actions that have made him so independent, it’s his personality.” (I know that, but in the small hours it’s easy to lose your anchor a little.)

Besides, he is affectionate. He clearly loves me fiercely too.

I yhink of other deep things like “why don’t they sell honey Nut Cherrios in Australia? And cheezeits?”

I think of things I’ve read. I think of people who are affecting my life through what they’ve written or said or have (or haven’t) done.

I think of people who are waiting to hear from me. What will I say? How will I pray?

What does my life speak?

Earlier tonight as I was trying to alow myself to fall asleep I had this thought – what if God’s answer for my plea for “alone time” are these hours of wakefulness during the night when I wishwishwish I was sleeping? Ugh.

And what if it’s not? What if it’s just that I’ve got to learn to let go a litlt more, quiet my mind a little more?

What if I just need to start doing yoga again? (Seriously.)

I thought about all the noise. (I have so much noise.) I read too much, think too much, listen too much, do too much, commit to too much, try to please too much.

And then I think tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I will simplify.

Because what if that’s what He’s trying to whisper in the dark?

Slow down. Create margin. Be present. Stop multi-tasking. Inhale, exhale.

Have some fun.

Last night before bed (the first time) I put my phone in airplane mode. I won’t switch it back to normal for 24 hours – a Sabbath from the internet. I’ve done the same with my laptop. (Hense, though I’m writing this now, I’m offline so I’ll post it much, much later tonight.)

I’m tired of being notified all. the. time. I’m tired of being constantly available so much so that maybe I’m not available enough to the ones who matter most. Or myself. Or Him.

I only have one chance at this life and I’m certain how I live it is bigger than this life now that I can see.

So I’m up. In the night hours. Listening, waiting, praying. Knowing that there’s something more.

(And still longing and praying for sleep.)

Hello? I’m listening.

STOP.

 

Q for you: Are you awake? Awake when you’re meant to be? Awake when your not meant to be?

 

Love,
A

p.s. I wrote without a timer tonight. I’m guessing it was closer to six minutes, or maybe even seven. Probably seven or eight. I don’t know; I’m tired. #fiveminutefail

 

Click Clink Five | Five minutes a day, unedited.