Destroy was determined to be one of the ringleaders in the (now-quelled) preschool nap rebellion. (I maintain this shows fabulous leadership potential.) Our hero was spirited off to the Chateau D’If to serve out his sentence. (Ok fine, he got moved to another classroom where there were less small people to incite.)
So coincidence or no that this was also the first week the little men transitioned to Big Boy beds? You decide.
Today was the first Big Boy bed nap attempt. Ladies and gentlemen – the sheen is far dulled during daylight hours.
“No nap today, mommy,” declared Destroy, despite the constant eye rubbing and head lolling back against the couch. (Shocking.) Search yawned.
I coerced them up the stairs with promises of an in-person intimate reading of “Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site.” (This is a serious fan favorite at our house. The cement mixer gets a blanket. Just ask a muppet. They will show you – repeatedly.)
Search snuggled up with MyElle, his ni-ni lovie, and contentedly stuck his thumb in his mouth. Destroy decided it would be much more efficient to sit squarely at the new opening of his bed and yell. Nothing in particular. Just out loud.
I returned downstairs, curled up on the couch, and began watching the video monitor. (Who needs cable when you’ve got a live feed into your toddlers’ room? I seeeeee you…mommy dearest…)
Five minutes into this particular rendition of Songs of Our Ancestors, Search calmly climbed out of his bed and toddled over to his brother. He put his arms around his beloved brother in a hug (of sorts), which elicited the yells to momentarily transition to screeching squeals.
“Destroy. No yell now. Nap. Ni ni.”
His message adequately shared, Search climbed into his brother’s bed, crawled across the length of it, over the railing, and back into his own bed. He re-secured MyElle, chugged a bit of water out of his sippy cup, and flopped back down – pulling the pillow over his head.
Shortly thereafter the yelling ceased. Unfortunately this did not mean the boys had fallen asleep. I could hear low-decibel mumblings of twin-speak as the two conversed with one another. I occasionally heard a giggle. Neither child was in bed any longer. Which meant I could no longer see the shenanigans in progress.
I decided to roll the dice. I decided to leave them to their own devices for a bit. If we weren’t going to have naptime, I’d settle for quiet time in our room. And maybe I’d get lucky and they’d pass out on the floor.
After a while muppet mutterings got louder.
“PUZZA!” came a shout, followed by maniacal laughter. Oh dear…
“New diaper. I change,” came the response, followed by the distinct sound of a ripping diaper tab.
Naptime was officially over. I raced up the stairs and burst into the room with enough speed to outrun one of last week’s Thunderbirds. Code 3, people. CODE 3 LIGHTS AND SIRENS!
The door flew open and I was overcome with the unmistakable pungent aroma of poop. (I cannot even imagine what this room will smell like as my tiny tots become teenagers if their personal space is already this unpleasantly stinky.)
There was a blur and two muppets scampered back into bed. Destroy was decidedly naked.
Every diaper in the Diaper Genie had been liberated from its neatly wrapped diaper sausage. There appeared to be a trail mix of unwrapped new diapers among their well-worn brethren.
This was icky.
Each individual wet wipe had been removed from the container and sprinkled about the room – draped across curtains, over stuffed animals, and into pillowcases.
I surveyed the carnage, my keen observations circumnavigating the room before returning my gaze to my cherubic babes.
Search was curled up in the fetal position, innocently blinking back at me with an evil grin.
Destroy stood astride in the center of his Big Boy bed – in all his birthday glory. A diaper was precariously balanced atop his head.
“Mommee, I do it!” he announced proudly.
I fear for the continued existence of naptime. It is so very much wasted on the young. And also, we’re installing another camera so I can see the entire room (notably the diaper pail).