They're My Boys

It's been a bad night. When I say my kids regularly sleep until eight in the morning, you may think I live in mother wonderland. Oh, how I wish! If he takes a nap, Calvin can be awake until 10 or 11, not always out of his bed, just awake. And Hobbes has been having an especially difficult time going to bed as of late. It was 10:45 before they were both asleep tonight. So here I sit with a Blue Moon Harvest Pumpkin Ale and a can of peanuts, nursing my frayed nerves while watching the Rockies lose. I only watch about 7 games of baseball a year, but somehow, watching those nice boys from Colorado lose to the Red Sox (who are second only to the Yankees in terms of sports evil in my book) is more than my fragile emotional state can take.

I expected Calvin to be up until late since he took a good nap today, but I had no idea what I was in for with Hobbes. His love of all things involving "baw" continues, but the lack of midweek football makes life difficult. Luckily for us, we have baseball. I allowed him to watch a bit while I rocked him tonight, and when I put him in his crib, he cried for an hour and a half because he was angry at missing ball on TV. I finally gave in and brought him back out, but as soon as he drifted off, I heard a choking noise. A screaming Calvin came running from his room at 10:30 having swallowed a nickel he took to bed with him. You can comment on my poor parenting skills all you want. All I know is that I was pretty sure I was going to lose it at that point. My amazing husband handled that ordeal, even fishing the lost nickel out of the toilet when Calvin spit it up, and I went back to ball and Hobbes, who finally drifted off. I only had to carry him back to the rocking chair twice before I could lay him down without waking him. So now you see why waking at eight in the morning doesn't mean my kids are getting a ton of sleep.

In an attempt to redeem the night, I share two stories that remind me how my boys really are all mine, so fun to parent, even if they are night owls like their daddy.

I mentioned that it was time for bed on Monday night and went back to cleaning up the kitchen. When I turned around, Hobbes was walking up with his blanket in one hand and my copy of Sports Illustrated in the other, with cries of "baw." He just needs his comfort items to sleep, football and blankie. He has been reading SI all week, flipping through for football pictures. That's my boy!

When we were playing in the boys' room this week, I decided to put on some music. I asked Calvin if he would like to listen to Louis Armstrong, figuring it was time to introduce him to some different music. He declined, but what do you think he chose instead? Not the Cars soundtrack, not Veggie Tales. My dear, sweet boy looked me right in the eye and said, "Lyle Lovett, please, Mommy." That's my boy!

They're my boys. But I sure am glad they are asleep.