I miss staying up late and sleeping in until mid morning. Once we began having children, sleep went right out the window. We eventually got them into good habits. However, we never did salvage our time to sleep late.
It all stems from the time we taught our oldest son about going to bed early. He did not like to go to bed at all. So, my husband came up with this little jingle that said. "When the sun comes up...time to get up. When the sun goes down...time to go to sleep." Son #1 loved the jingle and would repeat it often. He also internalized the jingle and began to get up at the crack of dawn. Then, he would come to our room to make sure we were getting up as well. Son #1 would sing. "When the sun is up time to get up!" Ack! I just want to sleep! Fortunately, I have made peace with the fact that I will almost always have to get up early. However, there are rare moments when I do get an extra hour of sleep.
When Son #1 was four, I would have him sit at the foot of my bed with a pile of books whenever I tried to get a bit of extra sleep. He would read and look at pictures for ten minute increments while I blissfully kept my eyes closed. After a while, Son #1 would get up from his spot on the floor and tap my arm. "Mommy, wake up."
"Mmmm." I would grunt. "Ten more minutes."
"You said that the last time!" Son #1 would complain.
"Ten more minutes." I would continue to mumble sleepily.
"Alright." Son#1 would say in exasperation. Son #1 would plop down onto the floor and flip through his books irritably for a moment. Finally, he would pick up something that looked interesting and continue to read. Then, I would continue to sleep until the next time my little boy got tired of his books and tried to wake me again.
Now, Son #1 is more independent and will play in his room in the morning once he awakes. Son #2 has taken his older brother's place tapping my arm and pulling at my eyelids as I try to get an extra hour of sweet, precious sleep. The other morning, I peered through half closed eyelids at the clock on the shelf as my youngest son patted my face. The clock said 6:50 a.m. My baby began to pull the comforter off of my arms. "Mmmm. Let me sleep." I muttered.
"Mommy, get up!" Son #2 demanded.
"Shhh! I'm trying to sleep." I whispered. "Go play. Ten more minutes."
"O.K." Son #2 ran to get his trains from the other room. He happily chugged into my bedroom and drove the trains across the furniture. "Choo choo!" He puffed loudly.
I pulled the covers closer to my head and squeezed my eyes shut. I needed more sleep. "Shhh! Your dad and I are trying to sleep."
"O.K. Shsss!" Son #2 replied. He continued to race his train around the room albeit in a more silent fashion.
I fell asleep and began to dream again. Midway through the dream, I felt a little hand poke my eyelids. I clumsily swatted the hand away but did not open my eyes. "What?" I asked.
"Wake up, Mommy!" My youngest son commanded.
"No." I responded defiantly. "Ten more minutes."
Son #2 would not be dissuaded. "No Mommy! Get up!"
"No. Ten more minutes." I implored. Then, I thought of a new tactic. "Where are the helicopters?" I asked trying to redirect him to a new activity. Sadly, that tactic failed.
"NO HELICOPTERS, MOMMY!" Son #2 shouted. "GET UP!"