It's 8:03 am. Do you know where your mind is?

Usually, for me, it would be in the gutter. However, this morning, due to lack of sleep, it's nowhere to be found. For some reason, my chicks only like ME to put them to bed. Daddy is okay to be in the room, but if mommy leaves, oh hell. Watch out. If I'm not home, daddy can put them to bed just fine--not one whimper out of them. If mommy's home, only she will do. Ultimately, this leads to me spending at least an hour and a half in the girls' room each night--coaxing them to sleep. Each of them "wants" me. I'm in the room with them. A room which, might I add, is only 11x11. They both sit in their beds and cry, saying, "Mommy, I waaaaaaaant you!" I understand that they love me, but all that whining makes me want a stiff drink. And I'm not talking coffee here, people. Speaking of which, I miss my best friend's coffee. I haven't seen her in a while. I miss her too. Anyways, back to the bitching...

So, last night, I called in the reinforcements. If I were a smart girl, I would have picked up the red batphone and called Gamma. But "Holy Helpless Husbands, Batman!" I called in their daddy. Like I said above, the kids only want me at bedtime. I like to think that it's because I have a special bond with them; it would be wiser to think that they were both born in the throes of football season, so I'm the one that does most of the nurturing September through January. That's just how it goes. And with both of them having birthdays in September, well, let's just say that once February rolls around, they're asking who this strange man is that lives in our house. "It's daddy, honey. You'll get used to it."

Scott tagged me and I left the room, never to be seen or heard from again...for at least 15 minutes. Those 15 minutes of which, Clairey screamed (at the top of her lungs) for "mommeeeee!" at decibles that are only audible to mothers and chihuahuas. All my fine crystal shattered. Good thing Walmart always has it on sale. Fine crystal, that is. After Claire stopped screaming, I went in there and removed her sweaty, little, Pooh-jammied body from Scott's arms. She whimpered, "Mommeeeee..." then promptly passed out on my shoulder. Her hair was all damp and curled, her cheeks were flushed red from screaming, and my God, she was the most beautiful baby in all the world so I covered her in kisses and now do you see why i'm such a pushover?! Damn, damn these cute kids! Where was Jenna during all of this? You may think she was sleeping. Au contraire. She was lying in her bed, asking the random questions that only a three-year old can ask. And, of course, trying to sneak out of bed at any given moment.

I tucked Clairey into her bed, then tried to sneak out of the room. "Mommy, I WANT you!" Good Lord. Jenna just NEVER goes to sleep. So, I was a horrible mother, and instead of saying, "Tough" and making her go to sleep because that's what a good mother would do, I said, "Come on, Pooh. Let's go lie in mommy's bed and read some more 'Little House on the Prarie'."

Jenna and I snuggled up in my bed, her head in the crook of my arm, as I read from the "Little House" series. She fell asleep with the prarie winds, Jack the watchdog, and log cabins on her mind. Not a bad way to end the day.

Only a mother could write such a long and detailed post about bedtime. Once day, I'll be able to write: "It's 8:03 am. Do you know where your mind is? Why, yes, I do. It's sleeping!"