Naptime has its inherent rituals. On the three afternoons Saskia’s been out for the morning at her most charming and perfect of preschools in the universe (Sunnyside Child Care Center—and believe me, I am not biased, I’m just telling the truth re: how marvelous Sunnyside is), we go home with Saskia strapped onto my back in the carrier (an Ergo, which I never had before and I have to say, I heart it). She munches on a pretzel or an animal cracker or two or three. She dictates whether we go “up the hill” or take the stairs at the corner. We keep eye out for Kate’s house and then Miriam’s. Once home, she drinks a bottle. We may read a story downstairs or upstairs. She climbs the stairs herself, with a few “choc-o-late chips” in hand.
In her bedroom, she must climb into the crib “my own self,” and “flip over.” Whilst she flips over—somersault by another name—it’s best if I sit in the rocking chair. She helps put the crib side up. She lies down and I cover her up. I sing a song or two or three, generally Skip to My Lou and Twinkle Twinkle and ABC. We might need one big hug. There might be a baby doll or snuggly friend requiring the blankets, too. Then, I must go pee (that is always the cue; sometimes I say it and sometimes she does). I promise to check on her. And I’m out.
Phew!
Toddlers love to dictate everything, that’s for sure. Routine and predictability seem to work pretty darn well for them (a lesson that bears repeating). And although a set of rituals, take naptime for example, can get out of hand, with a little gentle brute force, a parent can get the process back under control. In our case, although it sounds like a lot of steps, from up the stairs to my leaving the room takes about ten minutes now. I cut it off at one story on the rocking chair (a short one) and one flip over and one hug and three songs.
Now, I’ll admit about a week or so ago, things were starting to feel kind of… well, long around the naptime routine and so I shored up our process. The result is that Saskia’s no worse for wear and I feel a lot less frazzled midday. I have one other trick: after I walk down the stairs, I do not put the baby monitor on for a good twenty minutes. I mean, she’s very likely to be talking to herself or singing and cute as that is, I am distracted by it. I am not going up there unless she’s in actual distress, at which point her crying is actually sufficiently loud to hear her and intervene accordingly without a monitor.
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This resetting of the naptime routine was, for me, a good reminder of my hand in the parent-child dyad. I can pretty easily forget that and have things go awry (and they can go awry for oh so many reasons: last week, the tummy bug made me slower on the bedtime routines and a couple of phone calls at bedtime made me slower too…). Going awry isn’t such an awful thing, if tiring sometimes. I just like remembering that things don’t always have to go awry.
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The other reason the reminder served me well is that while I may feel as if I have a lot of control on the toddler front, I don’t always feel the same on the ‘tween or teen front. Regardless of the myriad ways things do get more complicated, certain basic rules continue to apply. Such as: 1) being firm when your course isn’t really subject to change is generally better than waffling, 2) you can be firm and still be loving, and 3) predictability from one’s parents tends to be a reassuring thing (not always, no, but I’m talking basic rules here).
My ‘tween is struggling mightily with a major transition—from cozy, familiar elementary school (he’s gone to school with some of these kids since babyhood) to big, unknown middle school. To say he is unhappy about this transition is an understatement. To say that he’s let us known how terrible and unloving and cruel and uncaring we are, well, take it from me, we know. I can’t exactly take him upstairs each afternoon for a nap anymore. I think, though, I can use my recent nap learning to help me help him. My new mantra to myself has to incorporate these words: firm and loving and calm, perhaps even unflappable. And my message to him has to be equally mantra-like: You can do this. We know you can. We love you and we know you can do this. Sounds simple, huh?
