The witching hour

Oh my goodness.  We have some tired little people!  I think the 11pm bedtimes, early rises and all the excitement of the week is catching up with them…

 

I remember as babies I used to call the hour before bed ‘the witching hour’… the last hour I kept them awake, distracting them with a bath, a bottle, a book, a final play and cuddle before putting out the lights, walking softly away to poor myself something to congratulate myself for holding my nerve, holding my temper…. Or on some occasions, to commiserate having not been able to.  The witching hour.

 

It seemed to have faded as the boys grew older, became more aware of their emotions, feelings of hunger or tiredness.  Or I read the signs better… maybe?     The wheels would only fall off the bus again and we would find ourselves at witching hour if we were all tired… me as well as them and the witching hour became ‘frustration hour’ or ‘who could shout the loudest hour’…

 

Tonight my little men are both up in their rooms.

 

Tom feeling sick he is so tired that he can’t eat or speak.

 

Willy is little angry man.  Nice as pie as he came home from football, ate a mountain of chilli and then as 6 o’clock struck, it was like a switch had been flicked and the red angry face stared at me out of white blond hair curtains….

 

I have resorted to the same as when they were babies.  Bath.  Book. Bottle (for me). And cuddles.  Quiet time for us all.

 

Lights out in 10.

Witching hour

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