Last night I went to bed on time for once. It doesn't happen nearly as often as it should, and I was happy to be down and asleep before 11:30.
Shortly after 2am, though, I came out of a deep sleep with a start -- Billy Joel! Someone was playing Billy Joel! It took me a second to realize it wasn't my own alarm clock, and then I noticed light falling across the hallway floor. We always close the kids' doors at bedtime, so that was all the information I needed to know someone was up.
play it! always a woman by billy joel
I trudged across the hall to Otto's room and found him sitting up, listening to his clock radio and reading by the light of his moon lamp nightlight (the book was Captain Underpants, natch).
"Otto, what's up? It's the middle of the night. Are you feeling OK?"
After a couple of confused starts, he managed "Well, I kind of want to go to day care."
"Ah," I said. He told me a week or two ago that he'd like to start taking the bus from day care to school rather than have me drop him off. I'm fine with that, but told him he'd have to get out of bed a bit earlier to make it on time.
"Can you see what time your clock says?" I asked.
"Uh, 2 o'clock," he answered.
"OK, well, you get up at 7 o'clock. Not 2 o'clock. 2am is still the middle of the night, and you need to be sleeping. If you get up at 7 o'clock you'll still have plenty of time to get ready for school. OK?"
"OK," he said, laying his book aside and snuggling into his pillow. After turning down the radio and setting the sleep function so it would turn off in 20 minutes, I covered him back up, trudged back to bed, and spent a good hour reading, trying to fall back to sleep myself.
And then this morning I couldn't get him up on time because he was tired from his 2am wake break, so he had to let me drive him to school.
I'm guessing that his ride-the-bus campaign is kind of a stress-reduction tactic. When Dr. S asked him where he was going to school, he said LMA and TBDC in one breath, giving both school and after-care equal weight. His day care peers were a tight-knit group going into kindergarten, and TBDC 'graduates' form their own little cohort inside the bigger grade school. I think it's not a bad way to cope, for him to self-identify as a TBDC kid and focus on those relationships. He's also proud to be an LMA student -- on 100th Day he made sure to wear his school t-shirt -- but his TBDC gang is core. He's doing what he can to manage his own comfort level and has been doing great the past couple of weeks, so the bus it is!
He loves his clock radio - it's just an old 90s-era Sony Dream Machine I brought up from the basement. Last week when we had a day at home, I caught him blasting the Commodores and dancing on his bed playing air guitar. He often turns it on in the morning and listens while he's waking up. He dialed around until he found a radio station he likes, and I'm happy because it doesn't have a rude morning show and they play a lot of classic rock.
I'll have to see if he'll let me upgrade his clock radio to one with an Aux port or CD player so that he can listen to audio books or quiet music at bedtime, and jam out to his favorites on weekend afternoons.
play it! brick house by the commodores
So, that little late-night adventure came on the heels of a dinnertime discussion with my daughter where she told me that boys at school love to kiss her cheeks. I asked, "do you like it when they kiss your cheeks?" She rolled her eyes and said "Noooo." And then she grinned hugely and said, "they like my hair, too." And it was clear that in that context, a little cheek-kissing was acceptable. Compliment her hair and you're allowed to peck her cheek!
She also told me a long, drawn-out and detailed story about how her preschool teacher's carpet was soaked overnight by a leaky pipe, and the teacher had to call the 'plunger and fixer guy', and the alphabet carpet was gone to get cleaned. Imagine my surprise, then, to find the alphabet carpet in place and perfectly dry this morning. So maybe the kissing-cheeks story was made up too?
My toes, I am on them.
It's a wonder I sleep at all, really.