The other night Margaret woke up at 2 am, screaming. As a rule, I'm a firm believer in letting kids "cry it out" at night, because all my parenting abilities and theories hinge around "sleep." (and save the comments about how you don't agree with this kind of parenting because a. this is my 5th child b. it's worked and all my kids are good sleepers and they still love me c. I'm not shopping around for other techniques) Anywho. . . she wouldn't give up, and she sounded wide awake, and I was, so I went in and asked my two year old, "What's the matter?" Margaret reached up and said
"Snuggle?" I couldn't resist. She was so pathetic and cute, so we had a snuggle, rocked for a little bit, and then I put her to bed. "Drink?" she asked, hesitantly, like a last request. . . so I got her a quick drink of water and tucked her into bed.
"Purple?" and "pink?" were added (blankets with original names) with a "one, two, three" dramatic draping. All snuggled in.
Then she asked for "Julie and Sally?" her twin dolls. Safely tucked under each arm I told her I loved her and quietly tip toed toward my escape.
She looked up with a bit of panic she didn't want to fully reveal and said, "Drink?"
"No, you've already had one. Good night." I replied.
"Nope. Dinner's over. Go to bed!"
"No! Everyone's asleep!"
"Uh," stalling for one final request. . .thinking of something, anything I can't resist, she comes up with "Washa my hands?" and holds up her hands towards her face with desperation in her eyes.
"No. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll wash your hands. . .now go to bed!"
and she did.