Nap time Renagades

In our home we have been forced to institute an unwavering mandate for peace and quiet, rest and solitude, and above all NO questions, from the hours of 12:30 to 2:00 every day, to which all children remotely near the resemblance of possessing reason are subject to obey. This edict, although seeming quite arbitrary and oppressive to those accustomed to excessive verbal exploitation during other hours of the day, has been established not only for maternal mental reformation, but also, and of possibly greater importance, to preserve domestic order and sanity in the form of clean laundry, starched ironing, and other necessary activities easily susceptible to the volatile whims of a two and (almost) one year old. As such, the work performed during this hour and a half is inevitably obscenely large and imposing, forcing myself into a unfortunate state of insanity by the act of multitasking.

The other day, while suffering a particularly violent attack of laundry induced lunacy, I realized the cries echoing down the hallway into my textile lined corner originated from the kingdom's only subject possessing, undeniably, no reason. Being far better at chicken than child taming, especially when assisted by the four walls of a crib, I obstinately ignored the cries of indignation, and hoped, foolishly yes, that they would just go away.

Amazed at my motherly wisdom in assessing the lack of strength in my opponent, whose cries had ceased moments after they began, I gathered the debris from my fabric eruption, tucked the hot iron safely out of a toddler's reach and marched down the hallway with the confidence only the triumphant can know. But as I approached my bedroom, where our eldest was resting, the sound of hushed whispers prepared my pride for a fall.


Their nap time rebellion had been silent and smooth; he transporting not only a baby but her toys too, and she, realizing her privilege, was eager to participate in his silent game. And for me, I was delighted to have three baskets of laundry finished at once, and humbly accepted that my baby's silence does not mean I have won.