Why I'm Tired

~
11:31 pm: I went to bed.

11:42 pm: Boyo had a terrible nightmare; he ran out of his room wailing and couldn't be comforted.

11:56 pm: I finally calm him down, but he refuses to go back into his bedroom. I let him climb into bed with my husband and I.

12:02 am: Just as I am starting to fall asleep again, I get whacked in the head with a binky and sit up to find my son demanding "Mow Mik!"

12:03 - 1:30 am: I won't detail all of it, but I spend the next hour and a half getting climbed all over, punched, kicked, snuggled, hair pulled, and ultimately shoved off the bed. Boyo won't go back to sleep.

1:32 am: I sit up, cuddle Boyo in my arms, and sing him a lullaby. There is a note of desperation in my voice. Or full fledged hysteria. I'm so tired, I can't tell.

2:09 am: Boyo finally falls asleep. He's sleeping sideways on our bed, and my husband and I have an inch and a half of bed to share. Whatever, I'll take it.

2:17 am: Just as I fall asleep, I hear my daughter screaming for me. The storm has scared her. And she's wet. I get her changed and pull her into bed with us, and she thinks this would be a great time to have a philosophical discussion. Hey, who's your favorite Disney Princess?

2:43: I finally get my daughter asleep. I have a 2 year old elbow in my ear, a three year old foot in my back, and my husband is snoring. Great. I ease myself out of bed and go to sleep in my son's room.

6:12 am: I wake up to find Girlie staring at me over the safety bar on the twin bed. "Momma?" she asks quizzically, "Why are you in Brother's bed? It's time to get up; it's light outside."