24 Hours

Just 24 hours ago we were heading out from our house on the longest trip we've ever taken with our young offspring. A seven hour road trip up the state. Eight days with family. Another seven hour road trip down the state. Did I mention the toddler in tow? Because there's a toddler in tow.

Shortly before our departure Ben put my fears to rest by completely losing it and going on a rampage. I honestly don't even remember what the series of fits was about--but let's be honest, the triggers were just that: triggers. Igniting something that was already there, in this case fatigue. He hadn't napped well, and consequently he was being a real peach. But then this happened: he threw something at me, plopped down in his chair, and said "time-out." Um, sure. So he put himself on a time-out. Um, okay.

The road trip wasn't too shabby, actually. We left in the evening with our boy in his jammies. We stopped at Starbucks and got a treat, then we hit the road. Ben conked out somewhere near the grapevine around 8:40. We stopped at the other side of the grapevine to stretch and get a snack, at which point he woke up. No big deal--I anticipated that. When we got back in the car and pulled away he fell right back asleep. We stopped again around 11:30 for gas, and he woke up again. This time he didn't fall back asleep until probably 30 minutes later. So we're on maybe 3 hours of sleep so far (for Ben--for us, zero).

We arrived at our destination around 2:15am, when he, of course, woke up. So 5 hours of sleep. The dogs we up, Ben got excited, the family woke up, there were people talking and laughing, dogs barking and playing, and Ben running around like he'd just gotten to Disneyland. I'm really not sure what time we "went to bed". I'm thinking it was about 3:00. Only we didn't really go to bed. We put the pack and play in the room we were staying in because we thought it would be easier for him. Well, he refused to go near it. Like screaming bloody murder with fear and rage refusing. We tried pulling him in bed with us. I should probably mention it's a full-size bed, which is built for one person. There were three of us. And before you say, "Shannon, Ben doesn't count as a full person, he's only 29 pounds," you've clearly never spent time in a bed with a toddler. He should count as three people.

Ben has never slept in bed with us before. I know that a lot of people swear by the co-sleeping thing, and if that's your deal, more power to you. But for me, bed is sacred. Sleep is sacred. Matt and I have a king-size bed because I can't sleep unless I've got room. I love to snuggle, but once it's sleep time, no touching. When Ben was sick we tried to have him in bed with us because he just wasn't sleeping on his own. Way worse. It didn't matter that the pneumonia made it so he was in a near-coma all day. Once he was in bed with us, it was party time. So when we got here and he would have none of the crib, I knew we were in for a ride.

He played, he tossed and turned, he tried to get out. I repeatedly tried putting him back in the pack and play, but to no avail. I'd wait until he was good and calm in the bed, then try a peaceful transfer. No. I tried the bedtime routine of books and prayers and songs. No. I tried ignoring him. He got louder and started jumping. Twice Ben flung himself on my back and laid there. There was a good chunk of time in which I was thinking, if this goes on any longer I will seriously die. It took everything in me to not burst into tears of exhaustion and frustration. Then he would get quiet and calm. Then someone would, ahem, break wind. Then Ben would crack up, say "Daddy farted," (because, um, yeah, it was always Daddy...um, yeah), and it would begin anew. He was like a wind-up toy that was stuck. I can't even begin to describe to you the horror film that were those couple of hours. If I wasn't so freaking tired it probably would have been hilarious. Ben was wide awake, Matthew and I could hardly breathe we were so tired. I don't even know when or how it happened, but we must have fallen asleep at some point because I woke up with a start at 7:00 to a small butt in my face. I looked at the jumbled mass of legs and bodies in the tiny bed. Good lord.

The day went by, kind of in a hazy blur. I think it would have been a lot more enjoyable had I slept. At. All. Then the dreaded nap time came. Second verse, same as the first. Eventually I got him to sleep in the pack and play in a different room. But I had to get all Supernanny on him. Whatever, he slept. Well, kind of, and for a short amount of time. But hey, better than nothing?

In the evening we went to dinner at a Mongolian BBQ place that Matthew has been dying to take me to. Ben refused to eat anything but rice and ice cream. Then I noticed that he, once again, has contact dermatitis all over his face. Awesome.

We got home to what closely resembled a Steve Martin 80s family comedy. We walked in, and there was a wiff of something unsettling. Matt saw a frayed wipe on the floor of the living room. Uh oh. He went to the bathroom. Holy....chunks of poopy diaper, from the trash can to the office to the living room. Kind of like a trail of crap. The floor had to be washed, the pieces picked up, the dogs washed.

I feel like you should just know that if I spend time with you, it will be an adventure. Maybe not the kind you signed up for...but at least life with me and my boys is never boring.