Lest you think this blog is all apple juice and roses...

Today started off pretty well... art camp at a local university for Fiona, some gardening and bubble-blowing for Nora while we awaited her return. In the afternoon we attended a side-splitting puppet show at the library highlighting the Aesop fable The Ant and the Grasshopper. Not half bad, huh?

But in order to squeeze in that puppet show, we eschewed the nap. Not the end of the world every once in a blue moon, but after a holiday blowout with fireworks that don't start until after 10:00 at night, perhaps not the brightest idea I've ever had. But there you have it. Hindsight is 20:20.

Knowing they'd both be tuckered, I had both kids ready for bed by around 7:00. Nora, who was ready to sack out at 5:00, had somewhat of a second wind and was fighting sleep just like she always does. Fiona's internal clock seemed to know that 7:00 is about a half an hour before her usual bedtime-- a time she hasn't actually hit for over a week now anyway-- and she struggled to fall asleep. For well over an hour and a half.

As she surpassed the one-hour-in-bed mark and her complaints became more vociferous and tearful, I began to break down. I don't have a particularly good strategy when she says, "I don't feel right," and that's how far we'd sunk by then. On my way up the stairs the umpteenth time to check on the now wailing five-year-old, I heard Nora awaken with a screaming start as well; and, I, um, lost it. After speaking rather sharply to Fiona I sent her to sleep in our room while I put the confused Nora back to bed. Then I apologized to Fiona and she was finally able to fall asleep too-- but not without again requesting her father (who was still at work).

It always happens. Right when I think I might be getting my parent groove a little bit smoothed down, I get a new lesson in humility. *sighs*