I went on a cleaning spree today (more on that later) which included putting Peter's room back together. As a result, tonight is Test Night for putting Peter to sleep in his very own (ignore the fact that I've been sleeping there for weeks) twin bed in his room. It probably wasn't the smartest idea because he went to bed near 11 for the past two nights, so we're bumping up bedtime AND moving him, but we're giving it a shot. If it takes hours and he jumps out by midnight anyway, then we'll call it quits for a couple weeks. But he's pretty much sleeping through the night now, so the hope is that once he does sleep, he'll stay there until 6 or 7. I'm fine with him coming back to our bed to nurse in the early morning like we've been doing for awhile.
Okay, it's an hour later and the boy's asleep. He nursed for the first 15 minutes and clearly wanted to go to the big bed. Then Dan held onto him for the next 45 minutes and he alternated crying and babbling. I came back and let him nurse another 15 minutes and he finally keeled over. I stayed for another half an hour to make sure he was really out (other times when we sort of tried this, we didn't stay long enough and he immediately woke up and left). Now we'll see if he stays there. The bathroom door is closed and the top of the stairs gate is latched, so he can only get into the two bedrooms.
In cleaning news, Dan and I were over at my parents' last night and realized that after a few hours, their house looked almost as bad as ours--apparently we spread disaster wherever we go. Today it was cold outside and we didn't have any plans, so I made a point of getting around to all the household chores I'd been putting off. Dan and I generally figure that I should accomplish whatever I can during the day and we both have equal responsibility for keeping the house neat and toddler happy when we're both home. Unfortunately, this has turned into neither of us ever cleaning anything. Well, almost never. So today, I put away two loads of laundry, returned two dozen books to the shelf, made both beds, brought two Rubbermaid bins of outgrown clothes to the basement, reorganized a third bin before bringing it down too, had Peter put away toys after he finished with them, brought two toolboxes, a set of drill bits, and assorted construction doodads to the basement, put my quilting and knitting books back on the shelf, brought the diapers, covers, and pail back upstairs, moved Peter's bedroom furniture back to its original locations, showered, lanolized a pair of pants, vacuumed the BASEMENT, washed the diapers and two more loads of laundry, scanned the Today show for segments including my sister*, read two chapters of Amy F!sher's book--the ones about her being abused in prison**, napped 30 minutes (and managed to extricate myself for another 90 while Peter napped), cooked lunch, came up with a plan for dinner that used up all our leftovers, mowed the front lawn and 2/3 of the back, raked, sorted the recycling, brought out the garbage, and washed two days worth of dishes. And I read "The Red Balloon" (Amy's abbreviated version) and "Big Cat Big Hat" to Peter more times than I was happy about. On Peter's end, he did his part to wash dishes and vacuum, and he made some nice car towers with MegaBlocks--he takes a car base and towers the 1x1 pieces ten or fifteen blocks high. A very good sport, he was. Dan doesn't let him wash dishes because it's destroying the finish on our cabinets, but I let him stay on the stepstool until he starts dumping his little cups out of the sink--he made it to the pots and pans today.
I think going to bed at 11pm must agree with me, darn it.
* My sister is an unpaid intern with Habitat for Humanity (she's put up with southern Georgia heat all summer without air conditioning) and is now in Los Angeles doing PR work with her boss during a big building blitz that they're featuring on Today, among other programs.
** The same sister gave me the book as a joke last Christmas and I figured I might as well read it. She seems to have turned her life around pretty well, despite having married someone who looks eerily like Joey. They've got two kids and she's a journalist. So long as she keeps fading into the woodwork, I'll be happy.