Snooze, You Lose
Like an endangered species or glaciers in Greenland, Greta’s nap is sadly but naturally dissipating into extinction. Back in the day, she used to crush a one to two hour morning siesta, wake up with a yawn for lunch, then Rip Van Winkle for another three hours before rousing for dinner, followed by a bath, and then sleep for the night from eight to seven. Now, we’re only getting an hour or two every few days. Oh well, we had a good run.
Before kids, I never realized the multiple values of a nap. When we only had Gigi, the siesta break was a time to relax, do chores, or otherwise restore our sanity. Gus’ arrival didn’t change the routine too much because his sleep schedule eventually mirrored Greta’s. Once THE WIFE and I got outnumbered with Tilly's arrival, though, all hell seems to have broken loose in our afternoon routines.
Like anyone in a union who needs that precious 15-minute coffee break at 9 a.m. come hell or high water, THE WIFE and I need that effing nap for our kids after lunch. Hell, I think schools should allow smoking in their teacher’s lounges again for an afternoon smoke after the crap they must put up with in a typical day. I have never smoked nor do I have an interest, but there are days with the kids when I imagine sucking back on a Pall Mall is probably a more relaxing alternative than trying to herd three kids through a meal, diaper/potty break, and/or an outfit change.
The other major drawback for the loss of a nap is the effect it has on the back end of our day. By the time our family dinners are coming to a close, I've inevitably had a passionate debate with Greta where I've argued seriously about why she needs to wear pants and underwear during a meal. When the house is finally quiet and I'm sitting on the couch drinking our nightly box of white zin, I'll look back and think "Did I really have that argument with Greta?"
At least Gus and Tills are still napping.
FCC at The House of T
As most everyone knows – or at least I like to think so – one of my few talents in life is making mix tapes (now known as “playlists” for those born after 1990.) My newest mix “R.I.P. Fishy T” is possibly one of the best I’ve ever constructed.
The opening song, though, is one that may not actually be appropriate for the children. The song is “Young, Wild & Free” by Wiz Khalifa and the immortal Snoop Dogg. You’ve probably heard it on 94.5 or Kiss 108 on the Boston dials. I think Providence’s equivalent is like Hot 96 or something like that.
Anyway, the hook is super catchy. (The little piano riff is a bit reminiscent of “Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta” by Geto Boys and memorable for the scene in Office Space when they take a bat to the printer.) But the lyrics are, well, not exactly sending a message I want imparted in any of our kids’ minds. Here’s a sample and by the way, I feel extremely white writing this so just imagine I’m speaking in a voice like Carlton from Fresh Prince.
So what we get drunk.
So what we smoke weed…
Roll one. Smoke one.
When you live like this you’re supposed to party.
Roll one. Smoke one. And we all just having fun.
On a scale of inappropriate parenting with one being say, giving a child an M&M, and ten just being Kate Gosselin or the Kardashians’ mother, where do THE WIFE and I stand with this one if we allow the song to remain? Have I finally transitioned to super unhip dad if I delete this from the killer playlist? Or am I simply just doing what one of the Real Housewives neglect to do with their own children who are doomed to grow up screwed up?
For the time being, I’m keeping the playlist intact and taking the poor parenting points. When the song comes on, THE WIFE and I start singing in make pretend Vietnamese loud enough to drown out the objectionable lyrics. We let the innocent parts play uncensored. The minute we hear Greta singing about rolling one, then I suppose we’ll have to implement a Taliban rule of order indefinitely on the music front.