Saturday was Annalyn’s birthday party. I scheduled it for 4:00, so I had plenty of time to get the house cleaned up and decorated without stressing out.

Or so I thought.

Given the chaos of this year I knew I wasn’t up for an elaborate party. My plans were lower than low-key, and all I really had on my list was clean the house, make a cake and put chili in the crock pot. We’d bought the tackiest set of birthday paper goods that Walmart had (in other words, a seven-year-old’s first pick), and my only real decoration was a matching paper banner that came with the plates and napkins.

But despite her regular schedule having fallen pretty well into place over the past month, Adrienne decided that Saturday was the day she’d skip her morning nap. I tried two separate times to put her down and she was having no part of it. And yet, as I lamented to my mom, she also wasn’t filing the stack of paperwork on top of the piano or pushing our newly repaired vacuum cleaner around the house.


She did take an afternoon nap and I did manage to get the house presentable and the food prepared, all before four. By the time the party (and the Royals game, because apparently post-season baseball stops for no man or no party) was winding down, my baby girl was beyond tired. She was pulling on her ears and rubbing her eyes and making it known that She Was Done.

So I took her and a warm bottle to the nursery, where she informed me that ain’t nobody got time for milk. I looked at the still-full bottle as I put her in her crib and said, “See you in a few hours, then.”

I knew that she’d be awake and hungry – or at least lonely – at some point in the night. The time when she slept all night was short-lived and this has been a more established part of her routine as the morning nap. So I wasn’t surprised when she began crying around 11:30 . . . when I was attempting to go to bed.

Mark warmed up that rejected bottle from bedtime, but though that normally does the trick and our late-night visits are nice and brief, she stayed worked up. For the next several hours. Since Mark is gone at work every weeknight, he takes night duty on the weekends. But that night’s uncharacteristic refusal to sleep meant he asked my advice a couple times. Which was fine since I can’t really sleep through her crying anyway.

Are you surprised to hear that Sunday morning was rough? Yeah. Especially after Annalyn decided to get up 45 minutes EARLY. Still, I knew – just knew! – if I could make it through church and lunch, the paradise that is Sunday afternoon naptime would be waiting for me.

Except not.

Because I made it through church. And lunch. And then put both of the girls in their beds. Adrienne hadn’t napped at church and she was still short several hours from the night before, so I just knew – just knew! – that she’d take a good, long nap.


She cried for half an hour, then slept for about 45 minutes. Now we’re sitting in the semi-dark living room watching the Disney Channel. Semi-dark because my head is pounding and we’re out of ibuprofen.


All I can think about is that saying, “Sleep begets sleep.” Obviously. Well, by obviously I mean that the opposite is clearly true. Because LACK OF SLEEP is begetting a whole heck of a lack of sleep over here.

I think the same is true about a positive outlook.

Sometimes – like on a Sunday afternoon when I JUST WANT A NAP – the last thing I want to do is look on the bright side of things. I want to complain and gripe and wallow and whine. I want to blame and yell and point and pout. But if I can summon up the tiniest bit of hope, just a glimmer of something that feels a bit like joy, it gets the ball rolling. You know?

It doesn’t always work, I know. Some days are more than sleep deprivation or stubbed toes or parking tickets. Sometimes you can’t dig deep enough to find that glimmer. I get that. But sometimes . . . sometimes it just takes one nice word, one laugh at a dumb joke, one smile.

And then just like babies and their sleep, hope begets hope. Joy begets joy. Lemonade? You got it – more lemonade.

So as we start this week, perhaps a little tired or even grouchy because Mondays never cooperate, I wish you a little bit of lemonade, a little bit of hope. Enough to get the ball rolling the right direction, enough to beget enough lemonade for the week.

Photo source

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