A Birthday Sleepover

Girls on the Banks of the Seine 1856

I am typing as quickly as loudly as I can, in the hopes that the six little girls who are loudly talking and giggling downstairs will get the hint that they are keeping me up, and that, nice as I am, I am not going to allow them to get into trouble.

The seventh little girl, my twelve-year-old daughter, has been asleep on the couch since 11:00 p.m. Four others left earlier in the evening. I have had ten girls as guests in my home since 12:00 noon. Add to that my own four. It has been one happening day!

We started out with lunch: potato bread, and a large variety of lunchmeats for all. I was surprised at how much soda the girls drank. We don’t drink it in our house, but I had some in the house from the First Communion.

It was in the 70’s today, perfect for the girls to hang out in the backyard for most of the hours. They played volleyball, football, softball, and basketball. They went for a walk. When they got back, I had my toddler in the kiddie pool. It was perfect timing, because they were getting hot and otherwise might have retired to the house.

The feet went first into the kiddie pool; then some splashing started. After a little of this mild play, cups of water started to be thrown, until there was a full blast good old fashioned water fight on my deck, and every girl was soaked. All the towels came down, changes of clothing were made and the drier filled, and a truce was called. The girls had cooled down and were ready for phase two of their backyard play.

For dinner I served hotdogs, green salad, and macaroni and cheese. Again, this is not my usual fare, but it was quick, easy, and inexpensive. They raved about it. “You are the best cook in the world!” they declared. And I knew they meant it!

Cake was white with white whipped frosting. All ingredients served today were double-checked to assure against the chance of contamination with any traces of peanuts. One of the girls has a peanut allergy, serious enough that she has to carry an epi-pen for the rest of her life. Walking through the food store, I got the feel of what it must be to be in her mother’s shoes. Imagine having to check the labels on every packaged product. I was going to buy bagels, but the baker could not vouch for them as being 100% free of peanuts.

After cake, they settled into the house. They got comfortable in their pajamas and picked a movie. It was a new one I had purchased for my daughter: Disney’s “A Wrinkle in Time”, based on the novel by Madeleine L’Engle. That ended at midnight, and the television is off now, but here I am at 1:00 in the morning still waiting for them to go to sleep.

One of the things I really cannot get used to is the cell phone usage of these girls. They are always texting, calling, and sending pictures. It makes me feel uncomfortable because I do not know whom they are contacting. Yet their parents have given them free usage of the phones, so I don’t feel like I have a say in how they use them, even in my own home.

Every time I tiptoe down the stairs, I see the light of several cell phones go under the covers. Are they using them as flashlights? I have no way of knowing.

I will be up at 8:00 to make pancakes, because some of them have to leave early. My busy typing seems to be working. The whispering is getting sparser now. Now the question is: once they have gotten to sleep, will I be able to, now that my mind has been active?

And, will I ever do this again?

Our Family's Easter

Easter Sunday had its ups and downs, as do all days.

It started at a little after midnight.

When my little brother and I went food shopping on Saturday night, we picked up six half-gallons of ice cream. He put them on the conveyor belt in a pyramid, hoping to cheer up the cashier, who was in a grumpy mood. It didn’t work; she was ready to sign off work and her smiles had been completely worn out.

I figured we were safe to give up our Lenten ice cream fast after the sun had gone down, but I waited until after midnight anyway. It was my favorite kind: Edy’s Chocolate Chips. And it tasted twice as good for having given it up for 40 days.

Fast-forward eight hours to morning. For the third year in a row, my eggs came out soft-boiled and were not edible. They certainly were pretty, though.

We got to the 11:00 Mass ten minutes early, but still could not find a pew where we could all sit together. There was a run-over service in the parish hall, so we went there. My toddler would not stop talking in church and I spent most of the mass out in the hallway. The few times I tried to go back in, she would say something and I was given some looks that could kill. My seat had been taken as well. My only consolation was my remembrance of that beautiful Good Friday Mass I had been able to thoroughly enjoy.

I had asked our good friends to be at my house promptly at 1:00 so that we could have an early dinner. They were there on time, but we did not eat early. I had gotten an eleven-pound smoked ham, which I had thought was precooked and just needed to be heated up. When I peeled off the instruction sticker, I realized with horror that it would take 4 hours at 350 degrees to cook the ham.

I called my mother, who had taught me the quick way to bake a foil-wrapped turkey. It turned out she had made the same exact mistake as me, and she too was waiting for her ham to bake down in Tennessee. She was not sure if the turkey trick would work with pork. I put a cover on my baking pan and upped the temperature to 400 degrees.

My friends had brought The Sound of Music on DVD. It was perfect for the waiting time; dinner was ready in three hours. I apologized up and down. My friend was happy she had finally been able to get her husband to watch The Sound of Music.

After dinner, the kids went exploring in the woods while I got ready for dessert. They had an awesome time!

My brother had a 7:30 AM flight out of LaGuardia, so we watched a late movie, took a power nap, downed some English Breakfast Tea, and drove to Queens at 2:30 in the morning. The drive was easy, with no traffic in the middle of the night, but I was still nervous about encountering drunk drivers. It turned out I mostly shared the road with truckers, which was just fine with me. I was very happy to be home.

I put on an Alfred Hitchcock film and fell asleep on the couch around 5:30 AM. The kids were on vacation and helped me take care of the baby until I woke up for good around 11:30.

Fast-forward to evening, when I was able to enjoy yet another bowl of my favorite ice cream!

Allelujah! He is risen!

Artwork above:
Fra Angelico, 1400’s
The Resurrection,
San Marc Museum, Florence.

Separation Anxiety and Naptime Refusal – RESOLUTION! - Part IV

My now-eighteen-month toddler has finally resumed her normal night and naptime schedule. We went out for a quick errand at 11:30 AM today and she promptly fell asleep on the return trip. I took her shoes and hat off and carried her to her crib. An hour-and-a-half later, she remains in a deep sleep. I am so thankful!

She goes to sleep at 7:00 PM and often wakes up at around midnight. We have found that she quickly goes back to sleep if my husband goes in to see her. He cheerfully goes in, tells her to go back to sleep, and she does! This is in line with several parenting books that advise the non-primary caregiver put a child to bed when there is a problem with separation anxiety.

If, on occasion, she wakes up in the wee-morning hours, I can nurse her back to sleep, as I always did before the height of her sleep crisis.

The only problem I have is that she has been waking up earlier than she used to. Last year, her normal wakeup time was around 9:00 AM. This worked great for me and my husband. We normally work on paperwork for our home-based business until around 11 PM, after the children have all gone to bed, then watch television for one hour before going to bed. A 9:00 AM wakeup time gives us a full eight hours of sleep. I could go to bed at 10:00 PM, but then I would be missing out on quality time with my husband.

This new wakeup time only offers me six hours of sleep. When I go in to see her, she is standing at the crib rail closest to the door, holding her “nigh-night” blanket, ready for me to pick her up. If we were in the army, I would tell her, “At ease!”

I am hoping that she will be able to resume her old habit of playing in her crib for a while, rather than waking up crying for me. It has been suggested that I use “blackout shades”, but I do not think this is the problem. Although the older children make every effort to go about quietly in the morning, I do believe she is sensing the activity in the house.

Still, six hours of unbroken sleep is better than what I was getting. And I am more thankful than ever for the naptime that I always had taken for granted! With her newfound sense of independence, I also have learned how to get more things done during the baby’s awake time, giving me more free time to read and write.

To put this whole situation into proper perspective, parents with older children look adoringly at my little one and say they wish theirs were little again.

“It is vain for you to rise early and put off your rest at night,
to eat bread earned by hard toil –
all this God gives to his beloved in sleep.”
Psalm 127:2

Eighteen Months

During these difficult few weeks I had to sometimes remind myself that motherhood was truly a divine gift. “Could one die from lack of sleep?” I wondered. What on earth was I thinking, having four children?

I have heard mothers mocking the parenting textbooks, saying there was nothing they could learn from them. But at the turning of eighteen months my child has been a classic textbook example of the age. Knowing that all babies (and their parents) must resolve these stages; being given various tools to deal with them, albeit the advice is sometimes conflicting; being reminded that all babies express their needs in their own way, according to temperament and personality; all these things I think are empowering to us as parents.

Eighteen months. The coming in of the upper incisors, accompanied by lack of appetite and changing sleep habits (in this case, the apparent dearth of a need for it). Separation anxiety at its height, accompanied by the need for a comforting blanket, whining, clinging, and the related difficulty sleeping alone. The frustration of understanding language and yet not being able to fully express it.

Prayers came from across the continent, from family with whom the spiritual bond is so close that the need for prayer is received by these supplicants without my asking. And at the moment of highest necessity it is felt, like a trickle of water in a desert. A moment of grace is all around me: before me, behind me, beside me, and above me.

There was light at the end of the tunnel. And in that light I found myself again. A newly born confidence in my relationship with God, self, and others – especially, those in my charge as a Mother.

And at the same time, my little one seemed to strike her own required balance of dependence-independence, realizing her own competency and ability to communicate her needs. The sleep pattern is still resolving, giving me just enough to feel on top of things, but she has become quite cheerful and winsome during her waking hours.

It is like the quiet after the storm, when the earth seems shiny and new. One appreciates its beauty all the more for having weathered it.

“God, my Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet swift as those of hinds
and enables me to go upon the heights.”
Habakkuk 3:19

Painting above:
Mary Cassatt, Little Girl in a Blue Armchair
1878; Oil on canvas;
National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C.

Separation Anxiety and Naptime Refusal - Part III

If I complete this post, you may assume I have achieved some reasonable amount of success in the sleep stand-off between me and my toddler. I had considered waiting until I had triumphed completely and reestablished a normal sleeping routine for several days, but as I have yet to find a complete account of my problem described anywhere else I thought it better to publicly share the process.

I called the pediatrician’s yesterday, stating that I had a question about a change in my child’s sleeping patterns. I was immediately connected with the doctor.

“How are you?” he cheerily asked.

“Not so good, Dr. The baby is turning 18 months old this week, the incisors are coming in, and she is refusing to go to sleep. She will not nap at all during the day, and at night she will only sleep for a few hours at a time. When I lay her in her crib, she clings to me and screams,” I summarized the problem.

He listened, and then I asked, “Is this normal?”

“This happens sometimes,” he answered, “There is one thing you can try. Give her a teaspoon of Benadryl at night.”

“Thank you,” I happily replied.

Of course in the past week I had wondered if there was such thing as a sleep medication for babies. Surely if there was everyone would have heard about it. I was glad to hear there was something considered safe to give.

Still, I had some reservations about giving any kind of cold or allergy medicine to an under-two, especially considering the current debate among pediatricians that has resulted in many children’s medications being taken off the shelves. So, upon purchasing the bottle of Children’s Benadryl, I warily asked the pharmacist if there was any reason I should avoid giving the medication to my child.

“How old is she? How much does she weigh?” she asked while studying at the ingredients.

“18 months, about 25 pounds,” I replied.

“There are only 25 mL in a teaspoon. As long as you don’t give any more than that, there are no side effects other than sleepiness,” she assured me.

I questioned her about the current debate regarding cold and allergy medication being given to babies.

“That is because people were over-medicating,” she replied.

(Of course, I highly caution any parent or guardian reading this to consult your pediatrician before giving any over-the-counter medication to a child under age 6.)

Armed with a new tool in my battle against her (our) sleeplessness, I put her to bed at her usual time of 7:00 PM. As usual, she went to sleep at that time with little problem. When she awoke at around midnight, fully alert, I gave her the teaspoon of Benadryl before nursing her.

When I lay her in her crib, instead of coming to with an anxious jolt as she has been doing of late, she settled herself calmly. She slept until 5:30 AM.

Today, at the normal naptime of 12:00 noon, I made up a sleeptime area on her bedroom floor. This consisted of a large blanket to lay on, a large Winnie-the-Pooh to lay her head on, and her favorite blanket. I nursed her to sleep on the floor.

The idea here was to re-establish her normal routine and eliminate her fear of being alone in the crib, before trying to have her nap in the crib again.

I waited until she was in a deep sleep. Carefully, over the course of about five minutes, millimeter-by-millimeter, I removed myself from her side. I replaced myself with a large stuffed cat.

I tiptoed over the squeaky floor to the door and cautiously closed the squeaky door.

I unplugged my printer before turning on the computer. The printer is very loud when it turns itself on during the booting-up process.

A half-hour later, she is still asleep! A mini-triumph!

[Author's post-note Jan. 31: The Benadryl was used for exactly three nights before her normal sleeping habits were naturally restored.]

Above: "Virgin Adoring the Sleeping Christ Child"
Sandro Botticelli, circa 1485
Tempera on canvas, 122 x 80.5 cm

Separation Anxiety and Naptime Refusal – Part I

I know there will be a Part II to this, at the very least, as this has been the major ongoing issue ruling my life over the past month.

My youngest baby never suffered from stranger or separation anxiety at nine months, the typical first peak. I thought myself lucky. I thought perhaps her being constantly around older siblings had effectively immunized her against the fear of strangers, much as breast milk immunized her against most of the germs the kids brought home.

But at the eighteenth month, the second average peak of separation anxiety, which just never occurred with my first three, hit us like a hurricane without warning. One day she was this happy-go-lucky toddler, happy to finally be up and about on two legs, refusing to say “mama”; and the next she was clinging to “nigh-night”, her favorite white blanket with tassles, and whining to be picked up by “mama” whenever she was in sight.

This started when we were in Florida for Christmas. I am sure the change of atmosphere brought it on. Then we left her for a full day while we went to Disney World. She reportedly was good for my grandparents, but the next day she apparently was quite afraid that I was going to pull another disappearing act. This is also when she started to be attached to the white blanket and calling it “nigh-night” (which is what we say when we put her to bed).

Now I must say I have been quite a stickler about naptime ever since she was born. She would never take a long nap as a newborn, so we settled into a one-time nap of two hours, from noon to two in the afternoon, pretty early on. I stubbornly refused to make plans during these hours, and even managed to maintain that time during our vacation.

As soon as I nursed her, I would carry her into her bed, say “nigh-night”, and kiss her. As recently as last week, she would say “nigh-night” back, wave, and sometimes even blow me a kiss. Then she would fall asleep within a minute or two. So it came rather as a shock to have her refuse her nap.

The naptime refusal started after I left her for several hours with my husband this past Saturday, to attend a baby shower. That night she gave me some trouble going to bed. The next night was worse – and I made the mistake of picking her up and bringing her downstairs for a while – quite rewarding. Monday she hollered when I put her down for a nap.

Finally, I brought her into my bed, where I nap-nursed her and she slept next to me for an hour. I put her to bed a half hour early that night and she whimpered for a few minutes, but then fell asleep okay.

Tuesday, she again refused to nap. I let her holler for a while, then brought her to my bed. She snuggled in for a while but stubbornly refused to sleep. I was pretty upset at this, having a list of things to do during her naptime. All these things would have to go undone. She and I were quite exhausted early in the evening. I put her to bed a full hour early – myself as well.

Today, Wednesday, was a repeat of Monday. She hollered for an hour – this was unavoidable, as I had to clean up a broken dish in the kitchen and scrupulously clean the entire floor to make sure there were no broken pieces anywhere. I brought her to my bed, nap-nursed her, and again she slept for an hour. She was cheery after that, and we stuck to our usual bedtime of 7:00. There were no problems here.

Having received my degree in psychology, I think back laughingly to my reading of case studies as a student. I can imagine myself reading mine and thinking critically about the “conditioning” that must be going on between this mother and this child. It was so easy in those days, with no children, to think theoretically about the best way to modify a child’s behavior!

How different when this real, living, breathing creature takes over your own life and you have that sometimes illogical feeling of parental love. The Cognitive Psychologists might call it the “Organism” factor that the Behaviorists had ignored between the Condition and the Response. I think of the scripture that asks what a father would do if his child asks for an egg – would he give him a scorpion instead? When a baby is asking for her mama, should she be ignored? Would that not be incorporated into her psyche, leading her to suppress her feelings because they were not responded to?

I welcome your thoughts on this as I continue my attempts to break this cycle. As my husband once commented, it is not just the baby that needs the nap. It’s Mom too.

To be continued. . .

Mother and Child by Mary Cassatt
1888 (40 Kb); pastel on paper; Art Institute of Chicago

An Infant's Dreams

Large lovely eyelids
close reluctantly.
You cuddle
in your cozy comforter.
In your dreams you dally
in fields of dainty daisies,
and frolic with furry doggies.
Your lips smile,
betraying your happy thoughts.
Do you think of playing
with Mommy and Daddy,
or drinking creamy milk,
while you grow in your serene sleep?
You look so beautiful
in your quiet slumber.

"An Infant's Dreams" by Elizabeth Kathryn Miller, 1997.

Photograph of my backyard daisy by Joanna Gerold, 2006.