Circadian Rhythms

Do you have kids with different circadian rhythms? It seems I have one "rooster" kid and one "owl" kid; in other words, one is a morning person and the other a night person. 

I've always been a morning person, myself; at the age of three, I'd be up having porridge with my dad before sunrise, and retiring for my nap by the time my friend woke up and came calling.

I'm still a morning person, but I consider "morning" seven o'clock. Little Bro considers it five freakin' thirty. He's not only awake, but ready to do a 100 burpees and seal the driveway. I barely have time to put socks on, because there's breakfast to be had. Trucks to line up. Couch cushions to hide under. Songs to be swung by the arms to. 

Meanwhile, almost three hours later, Big Bro oozes out of bed and downstairs like cold molasses. It can take a good 10 minutes of sitting on the stairs to process reality before he's ready to even think about eating. 

And when he does get to the table, Little Bro is ready to take a break and join his brother, tucking into his 'Phase 2' bowl of Shreddies. 

The good part of this is that I get a few hours one-on-one with each son during the day (Big Bro's time being during Little Bro's afternoon nap, of course).

The down side of this is that it's a looong day, and I have a kid full of beans at each end of it. Big Bro, the only night owl in the family, comes to life as the sun goes down, pogo-ing around the upstairs hall. 

The other not-so-good part of this is that this is me at either end of the day:

All I can say is, it's a good thing I love their company so much. 

Sentimental

Three years ago, I wrote this sappy post about Big Bro turning one year old.  If you do the math, that means my big boy is about to turn four.

In my post of 2012, I mentioned the feelings of sentimentality mixed with looking forward to and enjoying what each new age has to offer. That could mean simultaneously being delighted to be done with diapers (for one kid, anyway) but also not being able to be in the room when we sell the Jolly Jumper. *sniff*

Big Bro was an adorable baby, an old soul if there is such a thing (mostly because he seemed to be so over that whole baby talk and silly songs thing right from the start). I'm seeing more facets of his personality as he gets older, and he's more delightful all the time. He's funny, patient, creative, thoughtful and silly, still with a bit of that contemplative 'old man' quality at times. He's endlessly curious in a contagious way, my kid who likes GeoPuzzles and cheese equally.

Now that he's out of toddlerhood, I must say it's nice that we can go out for hot chocolate together without my worrying that he'll a) pitch it on the floor (at least on purpose) or b) freak out to "get down" after two minutes.

In fact, we can now have some great chats at the table. He can now entertain us with his confusing hilarious jokes, or I can learn how his stuffed monkey was in his stuffed sheep's belly, even though the monkey is older, and he's a decillion years old. We can discuss thought-provoking hypotheticals over dinner, such as what would happen if your skin fell off. I knew once he started talking he'd have interesting things to say.

So while I am enjoying each new phase in life with my sons, there are admittedly moments where I feel a little sappy about the whole thing. Like when I look at the little Sorels on the boot mat and envision the enormous boots that'll be there one day (you know, that day when they'll be going through loaves of bread in one sitting).

One recent bedtime, while cuddling with my firstborn and reflecting on his upcoming birthday, I had a wave of such sentimentality wash over me. I felt like reminding him just how important he was to me.

OK, I mean, I wasn't expecting something profound; just maybe an acknowledgement remotely related to what I said.


Well. Anyway. I'm sure he knows.