Even the most magical day eventually meets 8:00pm. While an occasional holiday, or summer BBQ is exempt from this rule, more than 355 days in the year, meets 8pm with the same grimace, and basic annoyance.
Internally, something happens to me when eight pm strikes. It is almost as if a timer is set, a predetermined amount of time that I am able to be the type of parent who is kind, patient, talks through our feelings, and intentionally works to grow respectful, compassionate humans. Or at least give it a solid effort. Yet, once the bell ticks past 7:59pm, I morph. I morph into this mother that while doesn’t provide me an abundance of pride, does provide a sense of urgency among the rest of our family. An urgency to stay in bed, to get it together, or at the very least, ask Dad for whatever major problem you may actually be experiencing. We practice differentiating between elephant problems and mouse problems; you know, if the house is burning down (elephant problem), please feel free to find me. If you are needing more water, or have the sudden urge to share a secret (mouse problem), please handle this yourself, or wait for sunrise. This all may seem a little heartless, but truly, the only time whack-a-mole is a fun game, is within the walls of Chuck E Cheese.
I’ve never been a night owl, and while in college I did have a few jobs that required me to work until ten or eleven, I never flourished after the sun was set. Of course, it was a lot easier to pick up my boot straps and go against the grain of my natural sleep schedule when I was able to wake well after the sun. So truly, with more accuracy, it’s fair to acknowledge that really this is the age old tale of ensuring that, regardless of job, or title, I function best on a full eight hours of solid sleep. Perhaps, even for me, or maybe all adults- the witching hour is not an experience only had by children.
Throughout our journey as parents over the last seven and a half years, we’ve had moments, maybe even several nights in a row where all adults and children slept, without interruption for a minimum of eight hours. However, in our reality, that is far from our norm.
Because I am vastly aware of my inability to function when I need sleep, early on in my journey as a mother I began reading about sleep schedules. I thrive on routine, so naturally, even with one child, I implemented a bedtime schedule. I was naive to believe that once Maverick, our oldest, began sleeping through the night, that he’d never again cry out or need a single thing from me. After all, I was well read, we have the schedule, he’d figured out how to sleep- so, boom- he’s now basically a sleep demanding adolescent, right?
Of course, at least for me, about the time I felt like we’d adjusted to the addition of a new family member, which included more nights with sleep than without- I’d get baby fever, completely convinced that we can handle whatever a larger family would require. After all, our sweet one year old slept all night, so obviously we were totally ready to be sleep deprived again. I under no circumstance ever considered that Maverick would ever become scared, that monsters or anxiety were actually very plaguing to children.
Actually, I blissfully talked myself, and my husband, into entering a new season of less than adequate sleep three more times. In all honesty, as our kids began to pile up, I did- of course, become more aware of their diverse needs, which equated to less sheep counting and more monster-chasing, and baby rocking. Yes, I even began to acknowledge that we will seemingly forever long for more sleep than we actually receive. Yet, we still went for it.
I’d venture to say that (for me) most newborn nights are easier than toddler or small children nights. Nursing a tiny human, in the comfort of a calm night, while exhausting, is easier than knowing the perfect words to find when your five year old is convinced monsters are in fact real. Or when your second grader is battling anxiety at midnight because a kid didn’t pick him to play on his kickball team. I thrive with rules; I do best with black and white. Yet, so many of my favorite moments, or the ones where I am needed the most- live in the grey. I am convinced that the moments where the rule book doesn’t apply to, are in fact the ones that will really shape our children as people. I really don’t want to screw this up- yet, I really struggle to develop, let alone articulate, wisdom for life’s greatest lessons during the night.
I am slowly accepting that even with the best sleeping plan, most comfortable bed, and even after an incredible reading, accompanied by a variance of voices during story time- some nights are overwhelmingly overtaken by inadequate sleep. In moments of rational thinking and compassion, I meet my children with love and comfort as the dark leaves them too paralyzed to use the bathroom alone. Or, when they insist on sleeping in the same bed as their brother, rather than the perfectly unused top bunk- only to be immediately, and constantly annoyed by the quiet giggles coming from the other side of the mattress. I try to remember that perhaps my children really will become dehydrated without one more cup or water, and that emotions and fears do not just shut off with the lights. Every day I have to remind myself that the tiny people we share our house with, are not only our children, but actual humans. Humans while real needs, and real emotions. Needs that so often cannot wait until the daylight appears.
So much of our sleep story over the last seven years has been an incredible roller coaster. I mean, do most houses look like a Hallmark special? Are other people also walking zombies, just praying that one day the bags will erase from under their eyes?
Here is a brief summary of our sleep journey so far:
- Tears. So many tears. (Adults and children)
- The removal and then reappearance of the same crib, only a few weeks apart.
- A tent on a crib. Yes, this really is a thing.
- A tent on a toddler bed. Again, yes-really, honestly- check them out!
- Praying your child will finally fall asleep, only to forgo an extra hour of sleep, as you watch their perfect finally sleeping body.
- A queen bed in our toddlers room, where yes, we slept beside our very terrified toddler.
- Parents sleeping next to a toddler bed. Yes, on the ground.
- The changing of bedrooms- a move to the basement, to an independent room, back to sharing upstairs.
- A variety of kids sharing a room, to no one sharing a room.
- Sanity. A total loss of sanity.
- More tears. (Mostly by adults)
- Nights where no one woke up and you are suddenly convinced someone, or everyone, had stopped breathing.
- Nights where everyone was screaming. So much screaming that it required my husband and I had to sit on our top steps in order to strategize our plan of attack in efforts to return the house to some sort of state of calm.
- A sleep consultant. Yes, I hired a sleep consultant during a 3am google search, while crying- completely desperate for help.
- Probably a thousand other strategies, and definitely more tears.
Currently, more nights than others, by the time my patience has expired, half of our children are in bed, and the others are brushing their teeth and headed that way. More often than not, our sleep routine provides consistency and expectations- allowing our kids, and me, to acknowledge that our day is nearly complete. So often, I force myself- rather than to dread one more thing, to embrace story time and push through the urge to scream just. go. to. sleep.
I am far from perfect, but I- too, even through my crabbiest lens can acknowledge that one day, our children will walk to the bathroom alone, sleep through the night, and no longer need our protection. I know that one glorious night, we’ll sleep all night long, and then- without even knowing, well rested will become our norm. Part of me wants this so badly, and the other parts truly understands how a mother’s heart can ache when the independence you preach and teach is finally achieved. I often spend a lot of time dreaming of the memories we will make with our children once they reach some currently desired milestone. Sometimes in doing so, I forget that despite the frustration of 8pm, there is beauty in the present. How I handle these moments will not only dictate how they learn to sleep, but also if they’ll share true elephant problems as they age. Day by day, I work to give myself, and our children the grace they need, even after the clock strikes 8pm once more.
Three Princes and a Sweet Pea 