I think anyone who has children has sacrificed countless hours of sleep, suffered immeasurable amounts of pain, and generally kept their sanity together with a shoelace. And all of those people would say that it was worth every minute. But even the most saintly of those parents have exacted some kind of revenge for the sacrifices they have made.
That was me yesterday. As I carried my cranky, temperamental children to their room for a much needed late afternoon nap, I cracked my left pinky toe on a monstrous Thomas the Train ride-on. I hobbled to their room, child in hand, screaming in agony. Smiling through the pain, I kissed them and laid them down to sleep. And what thanks did I get but a barrage of demands to try to avoid naptime, " I want Duice, where's Bankie, Oh no Teddy Bear!" I limped around the house gathering all of their demands and laid them at their feet. They were asleep within 5 minutes. 2 hours later, it had come time for them to get up, otherwise they would never go to sleep later. It was like trying to wake the dead. I wiggled and petted them and made soft noises. Nothing. Then I got the camera because they always wake up when I start taking pictures. Even the annoying click of the shutter couldn't rouse them from their slumber. So then I brought out the big guns. I googled "1812 Overture" pointed the computer speakers in their direction and cranked it all the way up. I then watched and laughed as they were jolted out of sleep by the crashing of cymbals and just to top it all off I turned on the vaccum cleaner too. As they stumbled out of their room sucking thumbs, I hobbled away with my broken toe and a smile on my face. Vengeance is mine.
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