"And this is my basement." "Gee, it's not as nice as the other rooms."
We returned from our latest visit home last night. Our reason for this festive trip was the rare confluence of two consecutive days off for Ellie. Our main objective for the trip was to allow the great-grandparents a chance to watch the kids eat, play, and handle every beautiful and fragile object within reach. They have four great-grandparents, three on Ellie’s side and one on mine,* living in three households.
I love taking the kids to see their extended families, but I hate the hassles of traveling. I hate all the work we have to do packing and unpacking before, during, and after the journey. I hate risking a major disruption to everyone’s naptime, especially mine. I hate not knowing if that big brunch the extended family planned will have anything for Abbie to eat.
It turns out these are mostly unfounded fears. The brunch had plenty, or at least enough, for Abbie to eat. Everyone took a long enough nap to remain reasonably cheerful. The unpacking was almost finished a mere 24 hours after returning home. We even managed to split time between the families fairly and equally, though not all family members may agree with us.
Our biggest potential problem was the sleeping arrangement. Our overnight hosts have a cavernous house.** The best place for the kids to sleep was in the basement, while we slept in the guest room on the main floor in the opposite end of the house. We lacked the foresight to bring the monitor, so we had no chance to hear any child from our room should he or she request a late night holding. If anyone woke in the night, he’d probably have to cry himself back to sleep before we noticed it, which brings up the Zen-like question, “If no one is around to hear a child scream himself back to sleep, did he really need held?” I was hesitant to do this at first, but then I remembered we’d probably let the kids cry back to sleep if they woke at this point anyway, so what’s the difference?
We took a trial run at naptime. I set the boys in separate Pack ‘N Plays near the foot of the stairs, and sequestered Abbie in a back room where no one would really hear her scream. We pulled the mattress off the spare bed in her room and set it on the floor. After setting everyone down to sleep in their appropriate quarters, I slunk upstairs convinced no one would sleep. They didn’t witness their normal naptime ritual. It was too dark for the boys. Abbie would be too fascinated running around a strange room to realize that she was supposed to sleep on a mattress on the floor.
To my surprise, everyone fell asleep quickly. I kept listening at the top of the steps for someone’s panicked cries, but all I heard was the occasional faint sucking sound. I even tiptoed into Abbie’s room to check on her, convinced that she’d harmed herself on something we overlooked while toddler-proofing the room. Instead I found her splayed across the mattress, sleeping better than she ever does at home.
I set everyone down that night, hoping for a similar result. Once again I couldn’t hear anyone screaming, at least not until I listened from the top of the stairs. Abbie was wailing from her room. I found her running around her room lost, and decided it was too dark for her. I gave her a little light, said goodnight again, and shut the door, hoping for a quiet night.
I heard no more peeps until morning. That may or may not mean they slept the whole night through, but I never heard them complain. Not that I had a restful night’s sleep; I awoke several times to check on them, but heard silence every time.
When I woke for the morning, everyone was still asleep, so I gently opened Abbie’s door to allow her to find her way upstairs when she woke. Then I set about preparing breakfast, a task that involved filling bottles with the proper amount of water, and selecting the optimal jar of baby food. As I worked in the kitchen, I was pleased that everyone continued to sleep, at least until I listened from the top of the stairs. Abbie had shut her bedroom door, and was screaming at deaf ears because she couldn’t get back out.
Otherwise everything went well. I was glad that both our children and our elders enjoyed the visit. Now the journey home was a different matter. It’s also a story for tomorrow.
* This heritage may explain why I exercise like mad every day no matter how many children are refusing to nap.
** This explains why they were our overnight hosts; the house was big enough for our kids to throw a 3am screaming fit without waking anyone who had the power to kick us out.
I love taking the kids to see their extended families, but I hate the hassles of traveling. I hate all the work we have to do packing and unpacking before, during, and after the journey. I hate risking a major disruption to everyone’s naptime, especially mine. I hate not knowing if that big brunch the extended family planned will have anything for Abbie to eat.
It turns out these are mostly unfounded fears. The brunch had plenty, or at least enough, for Abbie to eat. Everyone took a long enough nap to remain reasonably cheerful. The unpacking was almost finished a mere 24 hours after returning home. We even managed to split time between the families fairly and equally, though not all family members may agree with us.
Our biggest potential problem was the sleeping arrangement. Our overnight hosts have a cavernous house.** The best place for the kids to sleep was in the basement, while we slept in the guest room on the main floor in the opposite end of the house. We lacked the foresight to bring the monitor, so we had no chance to hear any child from our room should he or she request a late night holding. If anyone woke in the night, he’d probably have to cry himself back to sleep before we noticed it, which brings up the Zen-like question, “If no one is around to hear a child scream himself back to sleep, did he really need held?” I was hesitant to do this at first, but then I remembered we’d probably let the kids cry back to sleep if they woke at this point anyway, so what’s the difference?
We took a trial run at naptime. I set the boys in separate Pack ‘N Plays near the foot of the stairs, and sequestered Abbie in a back room where no one would really hear her scream. We pulled the mattress off the spare bed in her room and set it on the floor. After setting everyone down to sleep in their appropriate quarters, I slunk upstairs convinced no one would sleep. They didn’t witness their normal naptime ritual. It was too dark for the boys. Abbie would be too fascinated running around a strange room to realize that she was supposed to sleep on a mattress on the floor.
To my surprise, everyone fell asleep quickly. I kept listening at the top of the steps for someone’s panicked cries, but all I heard was the occasional faint sucking sound. I even tiptoed into Abbie’s room to check on her, convinced that she’d harmed herself on something we overlooked while toddler-proofing the room. Instead I found her splayed across the mattress, sleeping better than she ever does at home.
I set everyone down that night, hoping for a similar result. Once again I couldn’t hear anyone screaming, at least not until I listened from the top of the stairs. Abbie was wailing from her room. I found her running around her room lost, and decided it was too dark for her. I gave her a little light, said goodnight again, and shut the door, hoping for a quiet night.
I heard no more peeps until morning. That may or may not mean they slept the whole night through, but I never heard them complain. Not that I had a restful night’s sleep; I awoke several times to check on them, but heard silence every time.
When I woke for the morning, everyone was still asleep, so I gently opened Abbie’s door to allow her to find her way upstairs when she woke. Then I set about preparing breakfast, a task that involved filling bottles with the proper amount of water, and selecting the optimal jar of baby food. As I worked in the kitchen, I was pleased that everyone continued to sleep, at least until I listened from the top of the stairs. Abbie had shut her bedroom door, and was screaming at deaf ears because she couldn’t get back out.
Otherwise everything went well. I was glad that both our children and our elders enjoyed the visit. Now the journey home was a different matter. It’s also a story for tomorrow.
* This heritage may explain why I exercise like mad every day no matter how many children are refusing to nap.
** This explains why they were our overnight hosts; the house was big enough for our kids to throw a 3am screaming fit without waking anyone who had the power to kick us out.
posted by Matt at
11:33 PM
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