Today we had a short nap-time training run.
I am fairly certain that the event was ski jump.
Let me tell you!
Books read: check
Sound machine turned on: check
Dog, Lamb, Bear and Penguin accounted for: check
Blanket placed on top: check
I love you is said and out the door I go; off to sleepy town she goes.
Not so much.
Nope, I spend the next thirty minutes listening to a cacophony of communication, all emanating from, you guessed it, my child.
She talked to her animals in a high voice, a whiny voice, a demanding voice, a quiet voice, a shouting voice, a sing-song voice, and the list goes on.
I guess Olympic training is hard on the coaches, too.
It's amazing that they don't lose their voices.
As for me, I can only wish...
All of a sudden these voices change dramatically and turn into a real-deal the world is ending crying/whining/get in here quick voice.
I hear her call "Lamb!"
Except that the way she pronounces it, it is more like lame with a b on the end...and very dramatic:
My, oh my what just happened?
Apparently in his quest for gold, Lamb has gone wildly off-course. He has jumped ship, or crib as it were, and is out of his coach's reach.
She is distraught.
I decide to rescue her and hopefully get a nap into the mix. I go in, save Lamb and take Miss Thing over to the rocker to read yet one more book. Then I put her back into her bed (amongst pleadings for "Out there") and listen to the muted crying. At least she knows that the crying won't change things.
It is so difficult to accept defeat.