My husband is off golfing, and I put the boy down for his daily nap.

This is a real issue for us. My son does not like to sleep. He screams and throws a fit about every nap, every bedtime, every day.

He gets it from his father. No, really. My husband still remembers how much he hated bedtime as a child, the feeling that he “might be missing something” being the dominating reason for his dread. It seems our son has inherited this loathing of all things restful.

Lucky me.

My son spends the time he’s supposed to be napping singing songs and playing in his room. Sometimes he sings the songs in all meows, like a kitty. (He gets that from me.)

He likes to try on the clothes in his dresser, so I had to put all of his clothes inside the closet, where a lock prevents him from getting to them, rendering the dresser an empty, cumbersome box on top of which we keep diaper wipes and supplies.

Rather than the silence of sleep, I hear him acting out little scenes with the stuffed animals on his bed that are the only toys left in his room. Our living room looks like a used toy store post-hurricane because we have to keep them all out there, or he would never sleep.

In his room, we have a blackout curtain on his window that makes the room dark, and an air purifier with a loud motor we run for white noise, so car alarms and ringing phones won’t wake him if he actually manages to fall asleep. He rarely does. But just in case, he is safely encased in a womb-like, soundproof chamber of our desperate creation.

I’ve tried lying down with him- many, many times I have tried. He welcomes the company, the distraction, the playmate, and spends the entire time chatting with me and poking my eyes, petting my hair and crawling all over me. Which is wonderful snuggle time for an affectionate mommy who loves the touchy-feely stuff, but doesn’t get the kid the sleep his body needs.

Basically, he only falls asleep when he is bored into it, so having anyone else in the room negates all chances. For this reason, his preschool teachers have had only sporadic luck getting him to nap with all of the other kids in his class twice a week. He is the only kid they can’t consistently get to sleep, which makes me feel embarrassed, yet somewhat relieved. Even the experienced professionals can’t do it, so maybe I don’t stink at lulling a toddler into unconsciousness as much as I think. Maybe I really do have the child who fights sleep harder than anyone ever.

Recently, a new, terrifying development has arisen. One that involves my son releasing himself from the diapers that bind during naptime. He has discovered that it is a funny new trick to very quietly pull off his clothes and diaper, so that he is stark raving naked amongst the pile of bedding and stuffed animals on his bed.

Last week, he took the poo from his discarded diaper and smeared it all over the wall above his bed. While I understand that he may be able to get a government grant to pursue this artistic statement in the future, I am really more concerned with the fact that I will have to repaint his bedroom in the present. Like I have time for that.

He removed the diaper and peed on the rug like an untrained dog the other day, and I found him sleeping in the corner of his room on blankets he had dragged there, adding to the canine similarities. (He also likes to chase balls, and tries to escape out the front door anytime we have visitors. I just wish I could teach him to sit.)

It isn’t like I stick him in the room and don’t check on him when he’s supposed to be napping, either. I listen to the baby monitor and crack the door to peek at him constantly. I go in and make him get back in bed; tuck him in for the seventh time. Around the ninth time, I start to take slightly evil pleasure in catching him out of bed. I quickly open the door while barking out a sharp, sudden, “What are you doing?!” that makes him jump in fear and run shrieking to his bed.

You know… simple pleasures.

Today I was lying in my own bed drowning in the latest respiratory virus gifted upon our household by his preschool, desperately needing and hoping for a nap. I had the baby monitor nearby as usual so I could listen to him in his room.

I suddenly heard him singing a little song, a happy little song, all about his penis.

Uh-oh.

I jumped out of bed and raced to his room, knowing that if the penis is being featured in a song, it is probably also being featured in the bedroom. Visions of diaper-less boys peeing all over the place—or worse—danced neurotically in my head.

He was lying under the covers, completely naked, diaper and clothing on the floor next to the bed. He gave me a really big smile as he continued singing to his penis. I’m sure the penis was much more appreciative of the new tune than I was.

Miles is growing up so quickly, and I do the “knuckle check” quite often these days. A friend of mine with a few kids warned me that they get their knuckles around three. One day, squishy, chubby little baby hands with the cute dimples; the next day bumpy grown-up knuckles in their place. Overnight. I’m on constant knuckle watch.

This is the same friend who pinpointed the exact moment they lose the wonderful Baby Head Smell, so that I could really appreciate it before it was gone. I did. Best smell in the world. I still smell his head all of the time, but now it has taken on that earthy “sweat and dirt” combination scent of which all mothers of boys are familiar.

In the learning arena, Miles has now learned all of the basic sounds made by the letters of the alphabet.

My cousin Nia very successfully homeschools her five children, and sent me links to two great educational websites. I have now incorporated computer time into our daily activities. The phonics-friendly website I have been using for this so far is http://www.starfall.com and it is amazing.

I put Miles on my lap and we run through the alphabet sounds and do the activities together, read the short online books that sound out everything aurally and visually (via animated highlighting) for the student. There are cute animations and songs to keep his interest. I think that in addition to being a nice first foray into the world of computers for him, it is going to be a very helpful tool for taking him from learning the sounds the letters make to actually sounding out words and reading, an important step about which I was uncertain. I can’t thank my cousin enough for the links and will be exploring the other website more very soon.

I believe in phonics because I was taught them as a child, have always loved reading, and read at a freakishly fast rate. This can be annoying, because I will finish a library book in a day, much to the incredulity of my husband, leaving me bored with nothing to read very quickly. I’ve spent a few check-outs explaining to the irritated library employee that no, I am not being greedy, I promise I will be reading every single book in this stack rising up to my chin, so please let me check them all out. Under-ten book limits are no friend of mine.

I recently applied for library card online, Google Mapped locations, and made my first trip to a Tulsa library. Hardesty Regional. It was huge and gorgeous inside, with a newly built theater, a coffee shop and a beautifully decorated children’s zone with a colorful jungle theme and animals prowling the walls. To get to the story-time area, one must walk through the center of a gigantic tree they’ve created. It was like walking into a magical world. I wanted fairy wings on my back so that I could flutter into the tree properly to the oversized mushroom-chair I was certain awaited me inside. (Stop laughing, you already knew I was a big dork.) And I can’t wait to start taking the kiddo there.

I later told my husband that one of my top favorite things in the world, one of my Zen moments, easily on par with the inner peace I derive from planting flowers and gardening, is walking into the adult fiction area of a library. I realized that an oxymoronic calm exhilaration had washed over me while I was looking through the books and making selections. All of the stories, the possibilities for adventures lived through the eyes of others, were waiting there for me, ready to be plucked from the shelf like delicious literary fruit for my starving brain. I love that feeling. He said he gets the same feeling from playing golf—a centering, grounding feeling—so he understood perfectly.

I have lived in Tulsa for a few years now and sadly, the last library I visited was the one around the Sunset and La Brea area in Los Angeles, across the street from the awesome Bossa Nova Cuban food restaurant. In addition to missing those fried plantains, I realized I’ve really missed the library.

I hope you are having a wonderful week full of naps and good books, my friends.