In loving memory of “Naptime”

For those of you who experienced that period of life between the end of naptime and when kindergarten begins, this will come as no surprise. For those of you who still get regular naps from your child and think this will never happen to you, herein lies a cautionary tale.

Today, Pippi (aka potty-training-with-attitude) called in her sticker chart reward: a trip to “Chuck E Cheese.” Don’t worry, it’s Tuesday at 10 AM. Believe it or not, there are only about 3 people at Chuck E Cheese at this time. (No, it doesn’t disappear into some Dr. Who time warp where everyone is always hungry, whiny, and under 4-feet tall … as I had suspected it might before we tried it the first time.) When we go, we do so with 10 tokens each, no food, and I smuggle in drinks. It usually takes us about 1-1 ½ hours to use all the tokens, climb the indoor equipment, dance in front of the blue screen, and then cash in 20 tickets for 2 overpriced lollipops. Still, so far we’re grinning ear to ear at the end every time, and that was no different today. We were a tad bit later on our arrival (10:30), but we still managed to end happy by 11:45 or so. Next, we ventured to the nearby Safeway to stock up for my attempt at a Cinco de Mayo dinner celebration. We also bought a $5 cheese freezer pizza and gnawed on two “sample” oatmeal, raisin cookies before making our way back to the car. This, however, was the beginning of the end. Having pushed our excursion past 12:15 meant the beginning of what I call, “The Great-American Whine.” “When will we eeeeeeat? My tummy is so hungry it is going to explode!!!” and “I NEEEED a DRIIIIINK!!!! I’m dyyYying of thirst… Don’t you care mommy?!?!?!?” Which at home melded nicely into a battle royal over Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood and a blanket. (“Mommy knows you’re tired sweetie because you’re crying at ‘Mr. Roger’s,’ and he’s on the TV.”) Anyway, we suffered our way through pizza, potty time, and the beginning of a nap when Annie realized… she’s about to take a nap. This realization, so thoroughly jarring and startling to her senses caused an inverse reaction: imaginative play with paper doll princesses who only speak in screeching, loud voices. As she played with her dolls (and as Pippi who *needs* a nap had begun to settle down), Annie’s voice crept higher and higher. I went back to the “quiet zone” (the name of the room being the first indication of my expectations) to gently remind her that she needed to keep her voice down. Five minutes later… her voice is back up, and worse… she’s wandered out into the hallway directly in front of the room where Pippi is napping. Standing in the hallway, I whispered to explain, “This is your final warning. Your voice needs to be a whisper. If I hear you again, I’ll take away one of your dresses.” (This, of course, being one of the ultimate disincentives… I could take anything away from her… any privilege, and she’d shrug it off… but not the dresses!) She took one step back to the room, turned to me and asked, “Which dress?” Not thinking that far ahead, I was caught and paused to think about what dresses were hers… which were clean… which needed laundering… , and when she volunteered, “*Gasp* NOT my kitty-cat one!” I jumped at the opportunity. “Yes, dear. I’m afraid that’s the one.” She turned, “sobbing” into her arm, took one more step, and turned back around, dry-eyed. She looked at me and asked, “For how long? A week?” The “ee” in week approached a pitch only heard by our dog, Sasha, and which I only understood because “whine” is my second language. Again, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, and it seemed adequately long enough for waking Pippi from the early stages of a nap, so I said solemnly, “yes.” Taking one more step back to the room, Annie turned mid-stride, smiled and explained, “That’s ok. A week is only seven days, Mommy, and it takes you that long to do the laundry anyway.”
I have reached an all-time low: duped by a 5-year old. Here’s hopin’ Pippi naps every day until she’s 18!