It's 11 p.m. And I'm sandwiched in bed with my 22-month old and husband (our 3-year old has the good sense to stay in his sleeping bag on the floor) and no one is sleeping.
The boys had a big day. They hiked around a quaint little cabin (John Sack's), roughhoused with grandparents, helped mow the lawn... But still they are wide awake. Vacation bedtimes are a true amusement. From the outset I tell myself that I'll stick to schedule. Each morning of the vacation I awake with the very thought that all day long I'll do everything in my power to put the boys down on time. And then I magically forget and discover time has flown convienently past 10 while the boys are running laps around The Grandma Hotel.
I don't actually feel as guilty as I thought I would. Are bedtimes overrated?
1 comment:
Those are adorable PJs
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