Grumpiness, Cribs and Cats

Regrets this morning:

1)  Talking at Winton, repeatedly asking if he needed to pee, while he focused his eyes on something across the room and blocked out my voice.

2)  Getting impatient with Clara on drop-off.  She convinced me to let her come inside the building (her class was out playing) to help put away her lunch and backpack.  OK.  But then she wanted to pee  . . . and that was the last straw for my patience and I said sharply irritated things like "Clara!  C'mon.  I HAVE to get to work" in unpleasant tones of voice.   (Terrible, really.  But but but: her teacher did tell me that she'd had to crack down on Clara because Clara kept saying she had to pee when it was clean up time: pee as avoidance strategy is a well-used maneuver for my girl.)


In continuing to process/ explain/ justify my failures this morning, I come up with this:  It is one of those days when my tiredness is past fixing by sleep (I had enough hours in bed): what I need (what Winton needs) is a break.  For me that would be from the juggling that seems to tucker me out disproportionately; for the boy this would be from the newfound freedom that goes along with having the side of his crib removed, and from cat love.

The side of the boy's crib has been removed so that he can get to his potty, as he has gone cold-turkey, by his own choice, and now wears no diapers at night. 

Two nights ago, I came up to bed to find Winton sitting on the floor--awake, exhausted and quiet--by the side of my bed.  "Mummy, Pepita's in my bed and I want her out," he said. "She was pulling on my pants." "Oh," I said.  "That cat's a lot of trouble.  Have you been sitting here long?"  To which the boy replied "Yes."

She used to always sleep with me, that cat.  I loved her fondness for sleeping with her head in the arch of one of my feet.  However, now (since the removal of the side of his crib) she sleeps with the boy, and puts her head in the arch of one of his feet when she can get away with it.  This is both adorable and a betrayal:  I thought she loved my feet.  Anyway.



Last night Winton and his sister cavorted every time I turned my back on them for the night.  They fell asleep about an hour later than they should have. (So, no catching up for the previous late night then, but at least the cat on his feet didn't wake him last night).

I'm tired.  The boy's tired.  Clara and Pepita are running clever rings around us both.