Thursday, January 22, 2015

Tales from an evening with an overtired 3 year old...

In the home of the Catholic Librarian at approximately 7:30 pm last night:

"Anne, it's time for bed, Honey."

*Henry looks gleeful*

"But I'm not tired Mommy."

*eyes droop*

"Well, you will be when you get up there. Gather Bernadette and let's go."

Bernadette is her new baby doll's name. Isn't that precious?


*sassy face*

We're getting precariously close to what I call her Village of the Damned expression, so I tread carefully, not wanting to cause devastation to fall down upon my evening. Mike is at play rehearsal, and I like to enjoy the short bit of quiet time built into that schedule between when the kids go to bed and when he gets home.

"Mommy will read you two books upstairs."

"The big Frozen book?!"

I am sick to death of the big Frozen book and she knows it, so she's seriously taking advantage of the situation.

*long suffering sigh*

"Yes, one of them can be the big Frozen book. But let's get upstairs and get your jammies on."

We proceed upstairs, Bernadette in tow. Sleeper is applied, teeth are brushed. Stuffed animals and dolls are organized onto the bed. We snuggle in and read the big Frozen book which is FREAKING LONG, but I'm banking on my quiet time to come.

"Ok Mommy, now Winter Days in the Big Woods!"

We read Winter Days in the Big Woods.

"Ok Honey, time for bed."

"But Mommy."

I knew this was coming.

"Can't you read me A Little Women Christmas? PLEASE Mommy?!"

Oh sigh. Even *I* enjoy A Little Women Christmas.

"All right, but that's absolutely it! No more books after that, Mommy's voice is tired."

Mommy's whole body is tired, but never mind that.

"Ok Mommy."

We read A Little Women Christmas.

"Time for bed, Anne."


She snuggles in with all of her friends. A good night kiss is administered and away I go, off to the freedom that is my spot on the couch, beside my knitting and a glass of Chardonnay. I still have to get Henry to bed in a bit, but that's cake.

30 minutes later...


Oh sigh.

"Anne, are you OK, Honey?"

No response. *more crying*

"What's wrong, Sweetie?"

*shaking of head ensues*

"Can't you tell Mommy what's wrong, Honey?"


St. Therese is her beloved saint softie that she sleeps with each night:

"Well, St. Therese is right here, Honey. She's OK."

"I know, but she fell, and I could not find her! I was SO SCARED MOMMY!"

"Ok Sweetie, well St. Therese is all safe now. Can I tuck you both back into bed?"

*soothing hair stroke*

"NO. I don't want to go to sleep now, Mommy. I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU."

Well. This is not headed *anywhere* good.

"Can I go with you to read a story about a saint with Henry, Mommy?"

"I suppose." *offers it up*

Saint stories ensue in Henry's room, then I tuck them each into bed. By this point, Anne is more tired and a bit more amenable to going back to her bed. As I close her door, I hear the opening chords of "Holly Jolly Christmas" start up in her lilting voice.

A half an hour later, when Mike gets home, SHE'S STILL SINGING.

*another sigh*

We're all tired come morning.


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