Divine Intervention???

I have not posted in a while, but I do have millions of good excuses. None better than potty training!!!

Kenli is in the midst of training. I say that like it's new, but she's been using a potty for over a year now. I never wanted to push her, especially since there was going to be a lot of change around the time she turned two last fall. But I've decided that it is time to take the plunge and do what I can.

I have started to go beyond the short-term bribing (giving a skittle or something of like when she goes potty in her potty) and now I'm into the long-term bribing. Let's just call it goal-setting-- sounds way better than bribing.

So I told her this morning that Daddy and I would take her to Chuckie Cheeses this weekend if she went the whole week going potty on her potty and not in her panties. She agreed very enthusiastically that this was a great idea.

So, I'm going about my day when Kenli walks over to me and says, "Mama, I go talk to Jesus!"

"Oh my gosh," I thought, "she's finally picking up on one of my good phrases/habits and not just repeating any little slip of the tongue I may have."

I said, "Good for you, honey. You talked to Jesus. That is so neat and I'm so proud of you."

Yeah, I know she has no understanding of Jesus, but sometimes I tell her that mommy prays and talks to Jesus. That way when she is old enough to understand bits and pieces she's at least already heard some words and can build her understanding from there instead of from scratch.

So the day continues and she tells me a few more times, " I go talk to Jesus." Then I start realizing she always says this right around the time she has gone to the bathroom on her potty. And then it dawned on me...

"I go to Chuckie Cheeses."

Yeah, say both phrases out loud to yourself in your best toddler accent and tell me what you hear.

It's finally paid off

For years, err...
Since the day I was born, I have been a night owl. Never was I even the slightest bit interested in being an early riser. The morning sun stung my eyes. The smell of coffee and toast forced my brain into sleep mode. The sound of early birds really disturbed my sleep. The desire to rise and conquer the day didn't hit me until 11ish.

Then I became a mother.

Up all nighters consumed with spit up, poop, feedings, throw up, cuddles, screams, and kisses soon took over my life. It seemed that I could never stay ahead of the game. There was maybe two nights in a row every other month during the past three years where I would get sufficient shut-eye. But then it would be another six weeks with something disturbing my sleep. Needless to say, even when I would start getting caught up on sleep, something or somebody would step in and interrupt the precious zzzz's I so desperatley needed.

Then this morning happened.

I awoke to a crying baby needing to nurse. I pried my right eye open. It was a struggle to not shut my eye due to what I call early-morning sting (ems). After the third try I was able to stare at the bright digital clock long enough to see that it was a quarter to four. As I've become accustomed to in motherhood, I began adding the hours since I last saw the clock. "Hmm," I thought, "I actually got a little less than five straight hours of sleep." Not too shabby.

Once the baby was satisfied, it was four'o'clock and I was wide awake. The ems had totally disappeared from my eyes, but I got back under the covers. I'm so used to being able to fall right back to sleep that it didn't even cross my mind to get up and take advantage of my alertness.

I close my eyes and start breathing deep and thinking sleepy thoughts.
I turn toward the clock. It's 4:15.

I then make a deal with myself. If I'm still this awake by 4:30, I will get out of bed and take a shot at staying awake. After all, I always wish for more time in the day.

I close my eyes, but to no avail I am still feeling refreshed.

It's now 4:30.

"Alright," I tell myself, "it's time to get up." I quietly tiptoed out of the room and came downstairs pondering all of the things I could do.

There are last night's dishes strewn across the counters, a dishwasher calling my name to be emptied, a toy-clutterd living room wanting to be organized, 5 loads of laudry waiting to be dealt with, kitchen floors crying because they feel so dirty, about 6 full binders of material I need to read for work, a sewing machine wanting to get reacquainted, and my treadmill sitting and waiting patiently for my sneakers to wake it up. Ahh, I'm so overwhelmed. So I create a plan.

Attack the dishes. Check.
Search recipes for a yummy new breakfast casserole. Check.
Stare at the material I need to read. Check.

And just when I thought about actually doing work at 5 am, I realized that I was being productive at a time of day that was totally foreign to me. "Oh my gosh, it's finally paid off."

All of the crazy nights the past three years has finally trained my body into thinking I don't need 8 (or more) hours of sleep, and I certainly don't have to lie in bed until 6 or 7 am just because I'm used to it.

I was so proud of myself for finally entering this level of motherhood. I call this level the "I-don't-need-sleep-I'm-a-mom" level. It has always fascinated me how moms can just get up so early and be so productive and not act like they are missing an ounce of shut-eye. And now I totally get it.

I hope that not only do I make it through the day as perky as I am right now, but that I also can continue this early morning productivity. I'll have to let you know soon.