Why we hate naps and the revenge of the Laundry Monster

When I was little, I hated waking up so much that my parents paid me a nickel to wake up happy. It didn't work. I still wake up in an awful mood.
If I get up too early I feel I got gypped out of my hard earned sleep. If I sleep in too late, I feel like I missed something, but none of that even compares to the horribleness that is the dreaded nap. From facebook and twitter I gather that moms in general love naps. I still don't. It's right up there with canned tuna on my list of childhood dislikes I never outgrew. Jim has to convince me I need a nap, and even when he does succeed, I wake up a total crank. I feel like I missed something, got left behind, or got lost for awhile and life has completely gone onto the next stop without me. And I really really hate that running down the tracks towards the disappearing caboose feeling.

Jamie I think, feels the same way. He never wakes up unhappy in the morning, but that's probably because he's up before all of us anyway. He however, despises naps with all the venomous hatred that only four year olds everywhere in the world can sympathize with. Lately he's been getting up so early (read: 4am) that he can't help but take a nap in the afternoon. I put him to bed and he wisely nods his head at me, like he'll play along with my little game of "nap time" but unsurprisingly he has no intention of actually falling asleep. But of course he does, and thus, I know when he's awake by the loud shriek coming from down the hall. (random, abrupt shrieks are swear words for preschoolers). Another shriek as I hear his feet hit the floor and he comes running in. "Mommy, OH NO! I fell asleep."

Oh the horrors.

He doesn't believe me when I tell him I sympathize entirely.

He's also hit that stage where he dresses himself.
I feel the need to constantly explain that to people in the supermarket.



This picture made me laugh because it describes so perfectly the way they look at everything: Opposite.





And of course their trusty babysitter...



...Who sometimes accidentally knocks them down and makes them furious.



You'll notice the presence of mud, a commodity somewhat unknown in our part of the world. I did five loads of laundry on Monday. On Tuesday I was halfway through folding said laundry when the troops and the babysitter came tromping mud and wrecking general havoc over my laundry and through my nice stacks. So back to the laundry which by Wednesday had grown into seven loads (which is everything we own). Washed it all yesterday, only to have the dog get into the diaper trash and scatter the contents all over my hopelessly cursed laundry.

I wonder if the poor clothes feel upset they're now being washed for a third time without ever being worn. Thwarted out of their life's destiny or something.

I don't know whether to be mad or be grateful I at least like doing laundry better than cleaning the bathroom.