and on the seventieth night... they slept.

For weeks (months?) people have been telling me to lose the cribs and put thou wandering toddlers into beds but I ignored everyone because WHAT DO YOU KNOW, EVERYONE? And then, the other night, I reached my breaking point and finally listened. Not to everyone, mind you, but to the toddlers who, if they knew how to articulate their needs, would have long ago said to my dark-circle-eyed face, "MOM. DUDE. WE AREN'T SLEEPING BECAUSE CRIBS ARE TOTAL BULLSHIT."

It's all a metaphor, isn't it? As soon as someone recognizes they're in a cage, they want to escape... but when given the freedom... suddenly there is no need. There is no need to rebel when there's nothing to rebel against. I totally get it. Nobody puts baby in a corner surrounded by bars.

Children are far better at communicating with their actions than adults are so communication becomes this tricky thing because we don't really speak each other's language(s). Not really. So we get frustrated because DUH and they get frustrated because DUH and then it's our DUH against their DUH and when there are TWO toddlers being, all, "CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS LADY?" their DUH feels far more powerful than your DUH and DUH DUH DUHHHHHH! You wake up at 3am to two faces against your face and you scream because AHHHHHH!

But it's worse than AHHHHHH because twin two-year olds are extremely challenging. I think this age might be even harder than infancy because Bo and Revi feed each other's fuel - they plant ideas in each other's heads and join forces to come up with the most insane plots and schemes. (Last week they managed to break my guitar (punch a hole in it, wtf?) the Blueray player (bread does not play movies) and Hal's Kindle.

They whisper to each other and when they see me coming they're like, "Sh! SHHHHHHH!"
photo 3 skateboard
It used to be cute but now it's just... frustrating. Very frustrating. I don't know that I've ever yelled so much in my life as I have these last couple of months. And even worse? I yell-laugh. I get so mad I laugh. (To keep from crying? Throwing a chair?) And then the kids laugh (at me? with me? both?) and I'm like DON'T LAUGH IT ISN'T FUNNY THAT YOU ARE JUMPING OFF THE CHANGING TABLE ONTO A PILE OF CLEAN CLOTHES THAT ARE NOW COVERED IN CHOCOLATE WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET CHOCOLATE WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE WHAT IS HAPPENING!?"
Anyway, after removing them from their cribs they slept flawlessly... for one night. And then night two happened and Bo got up once and then night three happened and they both got up once and night four happened and I'm pretty sure neither of them slept at all because they figured out how to climb onto the changing table to turn on the lights so that they could have a party

Those were Bo's exact words, by the way.

"Hi, mom! Have a party!"
photo 1
The irony, right? They don't have bars to contend with anymore and suddenly tis the parents who are in jail?

At least they were in their room this time. As opposed to the couch or the kitchen or, you know, outside...

And so? Last night I decided to throw my hands up... the air (and wave them like I just don't care.)

"Party on, Wayne" I said as I turned on the lights and kissed them gooddiscoteque. "Party on, Garth."
photo 2
And you want to take a wild guess what went down?

THEM. Finally.
to be continued...