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Katy England Katy England
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Getting a handle on my kids' wants and needs is a never-ending battle. I mean, you think you know, you really do. You think you know what toys they like, what food they like, what shows they will watch, what books they want to read. And maybe I did at one point, but like everything that's happened before, it shifts with the wind.

I remember I wrote something about a year ago, about how just when you feel like you've mastered one particular skill, they move on to something new to mess with your head.

Now it's bedtimes. We had such a nice routine, and in some respects we still do. It's just different, and I haven't adapted or they haven't adapted. It's not clear.

We've moved the girls into their room and kept my little dude in the old room. His routine is pretty set in stone. If you don't mind reading about six books at bedtime, it's really not bad. He'll chill right out. Same story with nap give him his monkey blanket, read him in no particular order The Bear Book, The Bus Book and the Thomas Book, followed by more Bus Book or Thomas Book, and he'll pretty much stay down after that and even if he doesn't, he'll play quietly and pass out in his own time. Good enough.

The girls are another story, and I feel like this isn't entirely their fault. They, being toddlers, have little in the way of impulse control. They see each other across the room on a bed and want to play. But they egg each other on, and laughter becomes tears really quickly. Or one simply doesn't want to be doing what the other wants (or wants what the other has), and then brawls break out.

Bedtime isn't bad. The cover of darkness helps keep them apart as well as a crib could. But naptime oh, my precious nap time. If it was all giggles and laughter, I could deal with a lack of nap. But even if they don't start fighting in the room, the lack of nap has implications that stretch into the evening into the witching hours of the evening. If they don't nap, they take everyone down with them. A gentle bedtime routine can become a horror show of screaming, flailing meltdowns (sometimes I join in, because I feel like I'm in Rome).

I also feel like I used to know what they liked to eat. I'm not talking about introducing something new and getting huffy when it's grunted out of the park. I mean, stuff that they gobbled up is now chopped liver. Of course, one of them did just try to eat a book (Though it was 'The Incredible Book-Eating Boy' that was gnawed on, so I can't fault them for being too literal).

Well, I hope to eventually get the hang of some aspect of this parenting gig. Until then, I'll keep flailing around in the dark.

Last modified on Tuesday, 29 April 2014 22:42

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