The thing that’s been giving me the toughest time over the last six or so months is Pea’s sleeping habit. Or lack thereof. In hindsight, she’s never been a sleeper. We had to train her. Over and over. But now? That she’s just about four? It’s not so easy. She knows how to work the system. The system being us, her parents. Or me, really. Since Daddy is on the road a lot. As it turns out, I am a pushover. And the girls knows as much.

It’s a cacophony of sleep sounds at night. Her protests, as I tuck her into her bed. The sound of her hangers hitting the floor of her closet, as she enters it, pulls everything off the hanging rods and dumps it on the ground. Then the distinctive ‘whoosh’ as her door opens, and she creeps out into the halfway, curious as to the life that’s being lived above her, after it’s lights out for her.

She almost always ends up in our room, particularly when my husband is away. My take? I don’t care where she sleeps, as long as I, too, am sleeping. I don’t get enough of it. Does any mother? So I’m going to do whatever it is I have to do to get it. And yet, I have to laugh and roll my eyes at my own hypocrisy of days gone by. “Everyone has their own bed, their own room, and they need to stay in it. End of discussion.” It’s amusing to me how I was the perfect mother before I actually had kids. “Oh, I would never, ever tolerate that behavior from my child. Not in a million years.”

Those words? Need a little seasoning. They don’t taste that good.

I’ve read every book there is to read. I’m done with the books. I’m done with the ‘styles’ of parenting. Are you attachment? Do you CIO in your home? Ooh, we’re in the throes of Ferberizing…

Enough.

At this point, I’m realizing that it’s a matter of what works for which kid at whatever point in time. That usually equals a mix of a ton of parenting advice I’ve read in the books, a lot of winging it and always, always, a silent prayer to get me through this minute. Please. Just this one minute…

Still, I’m tired. And frustrated. Feeling put upon at times; sometimes even resentful. I actually had an out-of-body experience the other day, wherein I looked at my hands typing on the keyboard, and thought to myself, “who’s hands are those? What the? Where am I? Who am I? How did I get here?” Turns out it was just a precursor to one of my infamous panic attacks. I don’t get them all that often, but when I do? Ouch.

I spent most of the day today running errands. At least the family joined me. And the first stop was at JoAnn’s, where I loaded up on some supplies for my sewing machine. Doll clothes are my new obsession. And pillows. And all of that creation of beautiful things is helping me get through these days. One at a time. It’s my outlet.

Tonight? Microwave popcorn, a cowl that I’m knitting for GiGi and “The Office.” And then? Off to bed. Hopefully, just myself and my husband. No tiny feet kicking me all night, no propeller arms slapping at me in the dark of the bedroom. No… no… Oh, who am I kidding? It is what it is, and it’s going to be what it’s going to be… Two adults, three dogs and an almost 4-year old, crammed into what I once referred to as the world’s largest king-size bed.

Hope you all sleep well tonight, yourselves…