Yeah, that was me at about 4:00 today. The spineless freak going into a parenting rage.
My kids, three and a half, and 27 days are not napping anymore.
I know. I know. It's okay. Maybe their bodies don't require it.
Here's the thing. YES, they do. And my body requires their bodies to get the hell off me for an hour.
So we play the game. It goes like this.
Me: You don't have to sleep but you need to go into your room for a REST. I'll come get you when rest time is over.
2 minutes later...
Annoying twin #1: "Is rest time over?"
Me: I SAID I'LL GET YOU when rest time is over. Go back to your room.
Annoying twin #2: "I heard something. Is rest time over now?"
Me: " I swear we've taught you English. And I swear you know what I mean. I will tell YOU when rest time is over. STOP asking. Go back to your room."
Okay, you're rolling your eyes by now. Use an egg timer. Set an alarm. Use a chart with happy faces and ... BLAH BLAH BLAH. I know. Shit.
40 minutes later ... we're STILL playing the game.
So I grab an arm, march a kid back into their room while the other kid narrowly escapes my grasp while laughing something that sounded like, "You poor slob. You'll never get us BOTH into our own rooms. Give it up."
So yes, I'll try all of my teacher tricks. I'll get the timer. I'll find their currency (dessert). I'll make a Rest-time chart. But COME ON! How did I lose the power? Doesn't size matter (okay, let's not get into that)? But come on. I'm bigger. I'm older. I'm louder. I can eat cookies whenever I want. Don't they know R-E-S-P-E-C-T?
Don't answer that. Just call freakin' Supernanny for me so that I can be humiliated on national television.
...they did end up staying until *I* came to get them. But it wasn't really worth the struggle.
So, I've now had ONE margarita, ONE Mexican beer, and ONE glass of Argentine wine. Feeling a little better now...