Quiet Time!

Andy has given up his afternoon nap.  I had it good there for a stretch of time.  Both boys napped simultaneously for two hours while I engaged in my own personal pursuits, including but not limited to loading the dishwasher, watching "The Chew," and throwing back a couple of cold ones.  I kid about that last part.  I have yet to day drink while being home with my children.  Perhaps it's just so I can reassure my working mother counterparts, "It's not like staying home is a drunken dance party."  It's not like it's all fun, games, and wine.  It's mostly sweeping.  Have breakfast, sweep. Give the kids a snack, sweep.  Lunching leads to sweeping.  More snacking, more sweeping.  And dinner.  Sweeping.

For that good stretch of time where both boys napped at the same time, I would close the door behind me as I left Andy in his room and literally perform a fist pump.  YESSS!  Time free of noise and children and whining and fighting commencing NOW!  Alex would be passed out in the pack and play in the master bedroom for at least two hours.  And Andy, in his own bed, would give me just about the same, maybe ten or fifteen minutes less.  I would joyously cartwheel my way down the stairs and then happily load the dishwasher in the peace.  I would cuddle up on the sofa with my lemonade and watch television.  I would read a book, stare out at the neighbors, maybe fire off a blog entry or scroll through my Facebook feed or play a little Mahjong.  In these two hours, being a stay at home mother became my biggest scam.  I would think to myself, giggling madly, "I can't believe I'm getting away with this!"

Of course, then the kids would wake up and I'd be right back to multi-tasking- juggling, yelling, scolding, cooking, crafting, wiping, cleaning, sweeping, fixing, playing, reassuring, busying.  Biggest scam, over.  Or at least tucked away until tomorrow.

In the span of about two weeks, Andy gave up his afternoon nap.  I would stick Alex in his pack and play- Alex, who adorably, beautifully starts begging for his nap around twelve by pleading, "Night night!"- and then start the process of putting Andy down for his nap.  This is a considerably longer process than just plopping Alex down and closing the door behind me.  Andy needs his drink before nap.  He likes to hold his own cup while I pour.  The cup color had to match the lid color.  He needs to go pee pee.  He needs a pull-up.  He needs a story.  He needs hugs and kisses.  And then, for that last week or two, he needed to yell out to me for forty-five minutes from behind his bedroom door.

"Is it morning time yet?"
"I'm not tired!"
"Can I come out?"
"Mommy!  I broke this!"  (This usually being a library book which he'd viciously ripped seemingly just so he could watch me tape it back together again and tell me whether or not my patching was to his satisfaction.)

For that last week or so, he didn't fall asleep at all.  No more nap.  And so I began giving him the choice between quiet time or a nap.  Quiet time is defined as this:  You can stay awake but I don't want to hear the sound of your voice AT ALL.  Seriously, Andy, don't even LOOK at me.

Let me tell you- quiet time is a wonderful thing.

Andy sits on the couch for his quiet time, which is about the length of Alex's nap, and he doesn't bother me at all.  He watches a movie or uses the iPad, which is my only tiny concern about quiet time- his screen time now is through the roof.  But, hey.  First world problems, right?  At least he's only watching preschool type cartoons and not, say, Family Guy or Maury, whose whole show these days is based on the question "Is this scumbag the father of my child?  For some reason, I hope so!"  Andy watches TV and leaves me alone so that I can still have my regenerative time to myself before Alex wakes up and we're back at the kitchen table gluing pieces of paper to other pieces of paper or wandering around the neighborhood so that Alex can have a fit about all of the pumpkins he's not allowed to touch.

And since it's just quiet time, there's none of that time-consuming prep time.  No pull-up, no story, no naptime drink ritual, no yelling for me to come into his room due to a destroyed library book. Also, now that he's not getting that daytime snooze, Andy is falling asleep literally two minutes after going to bed at night, no later than seven-fifteen.  Win.  Win.  Win.

And here's the best part.  Yes, there's more.  Andy loves quiet time.  Literally begs for it.  Tells me to put Alex to bed (Alex, who now gets to nap in his own crib in their own room as opposed to the pack and play) so that his quiet time can start.  Andy lives for quiet time.  Andy has discovered chillaxing, and there's no going back.

Yep.  That's my kid.