Parting is such sweet sorrow (or farewell to afternoon nap)
Over the holidays, I said goodbye to a dear, dear friend.
Our friendship was brief, some might even say fleeting but, in the time I knew you, you provided peace and solace.
Farewell Day Naps, farewell.
Miss Two has given up her post-lunch snooze.
Just in time for the return of kindy.
Which means when Miss Four is whiling away the afternoon hours painting, dressing up and having meaningful conversations about the latest Barbie doll, instead of kicking back with a cup of tea, I will be mopping up tears and meeting the demands of a little tyrant.
Because, although Miss Two thinks she is ready to cope with a 12-hour day, her behaviour would suggest otherwise.
If 3am is the devil's hour then Miss Two is on UK time. Come 3pm, she is positively demonic.
It starts with sideways glances, followed by misdeeds and misdemeanours. Pulling the cat's tail, eating cat biscuits, getting into my make-up ... anything that will up the ante.
Thus progressing to full-blown mania, a fiendish cackle and a bare bum fleeing the crime scene after each wrong-doing (because, for some reason, after lunch Miss Two will absolutely, positively never, ever wear clothes).
And then come the injuries.
Tripping over the garden hose, the toys she has strewn all over the house, her own feet. Unfortunately, the hyper drive that comes with lack of sleep is not matched by physical ability.
The mind is willing but the body is weak. Tears flow, kisses and cuddles are administered. The DVD player comes into its own.
But one must never, ever get in the car after 3pm. Because, although the gentle motion of rubber on tarseal will soothe the savage beast, you must always keep your eye on the prize.
A sleep now would be disastrous, pushing bedtime out beyond the bounds of decency. No, better to ride it out until 5pm, dish up an early dinner, run a bath immediately after, and have the little Lucifer in bed by 6pm.
Ahh, Evening, my old friend, it is good to have you back.
