Naptime.

Naptime.

Poppy Snoozing NST

Get squirrels.

Naptime.

Kibble.

Naptime.

Chew on some stuff.

Naptime.

Snuggle…with a nap.

Bedtime.

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Naptime.

Eastery Things

Now with all of the “extra energy” (from all of the awful running) I have, I decided to make some Easter goodies (that I can’t eat because of all of the awful calorie counting). 

Poppy was napping.  What a life.

As soon as she heard the mixer she came over to sniff around for some butter.

She gave me her “please feed me because I am so cute” pose.  That dog barfs like every day, so I did not feed her any butter.  Poppy decided that the baking was boring, and not lucrative in a food kind of way, and that it was exhausting to sniff around and beg and whine like that.  So she went back to the couch for a little naptime.

I’m not even kidding about that dog, either.  Naptime is all the time. 

Anyway, I made up the dough and put it in the fridge for later, then started on the peeps. 

Henry and Ella helped me dip the peeps in chocolate and put on the sprinkles.  Those peeps…they just sat there staring at me. 

They had to dry, so I started on the cookies.  Oh cookies.  How I love thee.

I rolled out a bunch of the dough, and began with the cutting. 

Cutting and cutting and cutting.

And then piping and piping and piping.

They did not quite turn out the way I had planned.  In my head, they were way better.  I’m pretty sure I always set myself up for failure that way.  

 

Meanwhile, Poppy continued to nap. 

Poor, poor Poppy.  She has it so rough.

Eastery Things

Naptime.

“Night-night Ella.”

“Green.”

“Here’s your green blanket.  Time to sleep.”

“White.”

“Here’s the white blanket.  Stay in bed now, Ella.”

“Big.”

“Here’s the big blanket.  Night night.”

She rolls over, nose to nose with jellycat.  I steal one last little glimpse of her and I close the door.

And then, mere seconds after I leave her room, door closed, shutters closed, fan humming a soft, soothing hum meant to lull two year olds to sleep, I hear her on the floor.  She thumps around, playfully kicks the door and the wall in her little melodic way.  And then she drops off to sleep.  On the floor.  She sleeps on the floor, people.  Every nap.  Every night.

I don’t know.  Please enlighten me as to the why.

I used to think it was kind of sad and pathetic.  I imagined her lying there next to the door, staring out underneath the crack, just hoping for a glimpse of the parents she adores, the same ones that have caged her in her room for the night or the nap.  The Man thinks I am nuts for torturing myself that way.  Probably so. 

Every.single.night I go in there to check on her and there she is, sound asleep and curled up with jellycat, on the floor, behind the door.  I tuck her back in bed.  Under her white blanket.  And her green blanket.  And her big blanket. And then every morning she wakes up with a cheek full of carpet marks. 

It is amusing.  And cute, and quirky.  (And possibly slightly sad.)

However.

Every now and then, just for fun, she gets under the bed. 

You must tell me how to get her to stop getting under the bed. 

Because seriously, there is like 6 inches of clearance under there.  And she drags her lamb and her jellycat and her white bear under there with her.  And then she falls asleep.  Under there.  And then she wakes up.  Under there.  And then she screams.  And tries to army crawl outta there.  And her shirt gets stuck on a spring.  And that spring tears a big fat hole in her shirt.  Oh, and did I mention it is a new shirt?  Because of course it would be a new shirt.  Yeah. 

And also, the naps don’t last very long when they’re under the bed, as opposed to actually being in it.

And that, my friends, is a problem.

Naptime.