Wasted on the Young

When sleep tickles around the edges of my consciousness, I enjoy feeling my body slow down and become heavy, resting until I drift off. My four children, however, apparently view this as a challenge -- just how can they use their bodies' frantic motion to stave off any drift into the Land of Nod? No matter what sleep routine we work on, this happens. So they (not Thing 1 so much any more -- she just stays up late) wave their arms and legs, they talk to each other, they jump on their beds, and bedtime, well, bedtime stinks at my house.

I go to bed every evening in some degree of frustration and irritation.

Last night, we said, this has to stop.

The only way I know that works to get children to sleep at night is to roust them in the morning.

Accordingly, Operation Boot Camp swung into play today. Solo, because Eric had to actually go to work this morning, I rousted the kids, got them in something resembling clothing, got the bikes out, got the jog stroller out, and put on my sunblock.

It went about as well as could be expected, really. Complaining, falling off of too-big bikes, and then just the running and riding. It's so beautiful that even when I'm in the middle of my head, it gets my attention.

But after all of this? What really sticks in my craw?

After a summer of lying around, sleeping until noon and eating lots of ice cream and potato chips, Thing 1 is still faster and in better shape than I am.