Read to Tiger
I recently acquired the child's book: "Read to Tiger." If you haven't read it, go read it. You'll understand my post.
Eric is at a department journal club. Both kids are in BED. It's only 6:20. Tonight is the night I'm going to have some mommy time and catch up on a few pediatric journals that have been laying on my night stand collecting dust.
I've just settled down onto my nice fluffy pillows (yes, I'm reading IN BED at 6:30 pm) and am deeply engrossed in an article about H7N9 avian flu.
"And the BABY had a boat and the MOMMY had ANOTHER BOAT and THEN...." I hear Amy's voice slowly escalating. She is telling herself a story.
I race to the door, terrified she will wake Michael up. Thankfully, he is sleeping soundly.
"Amy," I say. "Mommy is trying to read. Michael is trying to sleep. I don't mind you telling a story to help you go to sleep, but you must whisper softly."
"I'm sorry, I'll whisper," Amy truly sounds repentant.
I look at the clock, 6:30 pm really is a bit early to put Amy down.
"Amy," I suggest. "Why don't you come into my bed for a few minutes. You can quietly read books while mommy reads her articles."
Amy thinks this is a great idea and trots off to find some books. I flop back onto my pillows and try to figure out where I was reading.
Amy is back now. She is seriously lugging the largest book she owns. I interrupt my reading long enough to pull her onto the bed and get her situated right next to me.
Quietness reigns. I'm really engrossed in this article. The potential for H7N9 to become pandemic is really scary, all it would take is a few mutations and ....
OUCH. I can't see my book. There's a little finger jabbing my eye.
"Mommy," Amy croons. "I love your eyes."
(The fingers slide down to my nose, now I can't breath)
"and I love mommy's nose," she continues.
"Amy sweetie," I say in my nicest voice possible. "I'm so glad you love mommy, I love you too." I give her a squeeze. "But Amy," I continue. "Mommy is TRYING to read. Can you please go back to quietly reading your book beside mommy?"
"OK Mommy." She really sounds sincere.
Ah, it is quiet again. I'm nearing the climax of the article--will there be sufficient time to create appropriate prevention strategies to prevent world wide devastation.....
RRRRRRIP
"Mommy," Amy wails. "I tore the page of my book!"
"I'm sorry sweetie," I say. "It's not a bad rip, I'll fix it later."
It's quiet again. I settle back down to read.
There is sudden jerking on the bed. Jump, thump, jump, thump.
"Amy, what's going on? I can't read when you are bouncing around like that!"
"Mommy, I'm trying to get out of the bed so I can get a drink of water. I'm VERY thirsty."
I help Amy off the bed and wait while she SLOWLY fills her cup in the bathroom and then methodically takes two small sips of water.
Bang/bump/bang. She is jumping across my wood floor back toward the bed.
"Amy," I loudly whisper. "You are going to wake up Michael!"
"I'm sorry mommy! I don't want to wake Michael up."
Too late. Michael is now screaming his protest at being so precipitously awakened.
I look at the clock: 7:30. I give up. My journal article will wait. After more drinks, potty break, diaper change, and lots of hugs I put both kids BACK into bed amid protests from both (I'm not tired, WAAAAAAA, mommy I want to sleep with YOU, EEEEEWAAAAAA). I guess I won't be reading much tonight after all.
The book ends with the little boy reading to the tiger. I guess at least my ending is a bit more dramatic!
Eric is at a department journal club. Both kids are in BED. It's only 6:20. Tonight is the night I'm going to have some mommy time and catch up on a few pediatric journals that have been laying on my night stand collecting dust.
I've just settled down onto my nice fluffy pillows (yes, I'm reading IN BED at 6:30 pm) and am deeply engrossed in an article about H7N9 avian flu.
"And the BABY had a boat and the MOMMY had ANOTHER BOAT and THEN...." I hear Amy's voice slowly escalating. She is telling herself a story.
I race to the door, terrified she will wake Michael up. Thankfully, he is sleeping soundly.
"Amy," I say. "Mommy is trying to read. Michael is trying to sleep. I don't mind you telling a story to help you go to sleep, but you must whisper softly."
"I'm sorry, I'll whisper," Amy truly sounds repentant.
I look at the clock, 6:30 pm really is a bit early to put Amy down.
"Amy," I suggest. "Why don't you come into my bed for a few minutes. You can quietly read books while mommy reads her articles."
Amy thinks this is a great idea and trots off to find some books. I flop back onto my pillows and try to figure out where I was reading.
Amy is back now. She is seriously lugging the largest book she owns. I interrupt my reading long enough to pull her onto the bed and get her situated right next to me.
Quietness reigns. I'm really engrossed in this article. The potential for H7N9 to become pandemic is really scary, all it would take is a few mutations and ....
OUCH. I can't see my book. There's a little finger jabbing my eye.
"Mommy," Amy croons. "I love your eyes."
(The fingers slide down to my nose, now I can't breath)
"and I love mommy's nose," she continues.
"Amy sweetie," I say in my nicest voice possible. "I'm so glad you love mommy, I love you too." I give her a squeeze. "But Amy," I continue. "Mommy is TRYING to read. Can you please go back to quietly reading your book beside mommy?"
"OK Mommy." She really sounds sincere.
Ah, it is quiet again. I'm nearing the climax of the article--will there be sufficient time to create appropriate prevention strategies to prevent world wide devastation.....
RRRRRRIP
"Mommy," Amy wails. "I tore the page of my book!"
"I'm sorry sweetie," I say. "It's not a bad rip, I'll fix it later."
It's quiet again. I settle back down to read.
There is sudden jerking on the bed. Jump, thump, jump, thump.
"Amy, what's going on? I can't read when you are bouncing around like that!"
"Mommy, I'm trying to get out of the bed so I can get a drink of water. I'm VERY thirsty."
I help Amy off the bed and wait while she SLOWLY fills her cup in the bathroom and then methodically takes two small sips of water.
Bang/bump/bang. She is jumping across my wood floor back toward the bed.
"Amy," I loudly whisper. "You are going to wake up Michael!"
"I'm sorry mommy! I don't want to wake Michael up."
Too late. Michael is now screaming his protest at being so precipitously awakened.
I look at the clock: 7:30. I give up. My journal article will wait. After more drinks, potty break, diaper change, and lots of hugs I put both kids BACK into bed amid protests from both (I'm not tired, WAAAAAAA, mommy I want to sleep with YOU, EEEEEWAAAAAA). I guess I won't be reading much tonight after all.
The book ends with the little boy reading to the tiger. I guess at least my ending is a bit more dramatic!
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