One of these things (is not like the others)
Here is our kitchen at night.
Did you see it?
Bottom left. Look again.
That would be Trey. And his new bed. In the kitchen floor.
I know it's a phase. Because if it's not, we're just doomed. So it's a phase. A phase that has planted irrational and unconquerable fears into my eldest's mind. He cannot be alone. Can. NOT.
Not just alone, though. Another trusted human being must be in eye or earshot. Day or night. But the worst is at night.
We have tried everything to get this stubborn and amazing kid to go to bed like a normal person. Really, everything. Logic, bribes, gentle prodding, yelling, privilege-stripping, the parental prison of having to lay in his bed with him until he goes to sleep. Ugh.
And to maintain sanity, this is what we landed upon. Bedtime comes, he falls asleep in the kitchen floor. Lights blaring and Mama scurrying around and over top of him to get end-of-day chores done. And he falls asleep happily.
Most of the time. As long as we make him lay down early enough. Lord forbid that I have a small list and want to get in bed a little early. Ohhhh, it's ugly. Cue more yelling and crying. From both sides.
But the early bedtime on his floor mat has been a Godsend. A far cry from trying to force him into his own bed, with all of its nightmarish screaming, kicking, throwing of objects, and gagging.
Yeah, this is totally one of those moments when I wish with all of my being that, immediately after Trey came out, I could have also birthed a very specific instruction manual. Sure, it would be a kick in the shins of faith, but boy. Sometimes it's nice to dream, y'all.
Trey sleeps in the kitchen floor. And he likes it.
It's a phase. It won't kill him, it won't kill us.
Though it is so not my favorite phase, I keep having to remind myself that this is small potatoes. Little kids, little problems. Trey is healthy and, at least when he's in the kitchen floor surrounded by noise and activity, happy.
It is a good teaching opportunity, anyway, to explain that God is not a God of fear, but of power and of love. And, if Trey would let go and allow the Lord to bring peace to his mind (which we know He can do), what an incredible way for him to experience God moving in his life. If Trey will let Him. So we keep explaining. And praying. And trying so very, very hard to maintain happy hearts, which, you know, isn't really easy.
I'd like to thank my precious Mama for her wisdom, and my precious Lord, who made my Mama's name appear on my phone not two seconds after I sobbed out a prayer for wisdom during one of Trey's screaming fits the other night. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Did you see it?
Bottom left. Look again.
That would be Trey. And his new bed. In the kitchen floor.
I know it's a phase. Because if it's not, we're just doomed. So it's a phase. A phase that has planted irrational and unconquerable fears into my eldest's mind. He cannot be alone. Can. NOT.
Not just alone, though. Another trusted human being must be in eye or earshot. Day or night. But the worst is at night.
We have tried everything to get this stubborn and amazing kid to go to bed like a normal person. Really, everything. Logic, bribes, gentle prodding, yelling, privilege-stripping, the parental prison of having to lay in his bed with him until he goes to sleep. Ugh.
And to maintain sanity, this is what we landed upon. Bedtime comes, he falls asleep in the kitchen floor. Lights blaring and Mama scurrying around and over top of him to get end-of-day chores done. And he falls asleep happily.
Most of the time. As long as we make him lay down early enough. Lord forbid that I have a small list and want to get in bed a little early. Ohhhh, it's ugly. Cue more yelling and crying. From both sides.
But the early bedtime on his floor mat has been a Godsend. A far cry from trying to force him into his own bed, with all of its nightmarish screaming, kicking, throwing of objects, and gagging.
Yeah, this is totally one of those moments when I wish with all of my being that, immediately after Trey came out, I could have also birthed a very specific instruction manual. Sure, it would be a kick in the shins of faith, but boy. Sometimes it's nice to dream, y'all.
Trey sleeps in the kitchen floor. And he likes it.
It's a phase. It won't kill him, it won't kill us.
Though it is so not my favorite phase, I keep having to remind myself that this is small potatoes. Little kids, little problems. Trey is healthy and, at least when he's in the kitchen floor surrounded by noise and activity, happy.
It is a good teaching opportunity, anyway, to explain that God is not a God of fear, but of power and of love. And, if Trey would let go and allow the Lord to bring peace to his mind (which we know He can do), what an incredible way for him to experience God moving in his life. If Trey will let Him. So we keep explaining. And praying. And trying so very, very hard to maintain happy hearts, which, you know, isn't really easy.
I'd like to thank my precious Mama for her wisdom, and my precious Lord, who made my Mama's name appear on my phone not two seconds after I sobbed out a prayer for wisdom during one of Trey's screaming fits the other night. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
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