Tired Toddlers & Father Fatigue

"I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink
I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink
I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink
No,no,no….

You know I'd give you everything I've got
for a little peace of mind"

– The Beatles

John Lennon thought it important enough to sing about: being utterly exhausted. The Beatles were, in fact, so weary when they completed the album, they couldn't think of a name for the thing. Thus, it was dubbed by the public "The White Album". Having drawn such enormous inspiration from the group during my youth, I am surprised to not have named my daughter "The White Daughter", being sometimes so exhausted by the thing.

The other day, my wife went to wake the youngster for breakfast – her last 2 1/2 hour session of pre-school lay ahead. She opened our child's door, and pulled back the shades. My daughter, Harper, grimaced, hopped out of bed, drew the shades closed, and shut the door. Four minutes later, the 4-year-old,  no longer able to sleep due to the interruption, stood on the landing in front of her room, in her kitty-cat pyjamas, cowlicks of horned hair searching for alien reception in all directions, fists clenched by her sides, with an expression which screamed "Who Dared Disturb My Slumber!" Fortunately, this mood was short-lived; cured through a fulfillment of her ritualistic morning request:  warm milk, full to the top, in her Lighting McQueen sippy-cup.

The day's more challenging period is not the morning, as nighttime fatigue wears off, but in the afternoon, when the daytime fatigue settles in. Symptoms of fatigue in adults, in a nutshell, are difficulty concentrating, and difficulty coping with a given situation. As an adult, when I get tired, I am irritable, unsociable, and impatient. At a social gathering my wife can always notice when I'm tired; I stop talking, and sit quietly until it's appropriate to bolt from the party and head home. Sometimes, if it's too early to make a break for it, as an adult, I have recourse through which to deal with my sleepiness in public. I can excuse myself, and spend several minutes in the washroom – either splashing some water on my face, or feigning constipation, and reading a dozen pages of Home & Garden.

 

At home, I am more difficult to deal with. A tired Kenny gets downright chirpy, impatient, and unpleasant. Occasionally, I know enough to ask for forgiveness for my behaviour, and admit my fatigue turned me rogue.

Harper, however, is a much newer, more sensitive machine. She may feel tired,  yet doesn't make the connection between her fatigue and her inability to cope. Tantrums, disobedience, and crying all become her way of trying to remove herself from, and avoid, the situation her brain doesn't have the energy to deal with. Typically, an example of my daughter's fatigue manifesting itself will be:

Me: "Harper, do you want an apple?"

Her: "NO! I TOLD YOU I DON'T…WANT…FRUUUUIT!"

First of all, she hadn't told me she didn't want fruit. Secondly, I think to myself, I'm holding an apple, not a bowl of soggy spinach and mothballs.

Sometimes, on a good day, I'll realize rather quickly that her behaviour is a product of fatigue. When that happens, I'll have the wherewithal to leave her alone (during which time, she'll often stop-and-drop, wherever she is, for a little quiet rest – sometimes in the middle of the kitchen floor while I'm making supper), or, if she's really weepy, I'll give her a hug, and ask her if she's tired, to which she'll nod, and sob out some of the exhaustion. Realizing her behaviour is a product of fatigue helps me give her a little more distance from any instructions or suggestions, and gives me the strength to both accept that which I cannot change, and not look into giving her up for adoption.

The real firestorm is created when our tired worlds collide. The Perfect Storm of a tired parent, and an exhausted child. It's during this tumult that my inability to cope escalates the confrontation. I'm more likely to yell at her, force discipline on her, and insist on her obedience. For instance:

Me: "Harper, do you want an apple?"

Her: "NO! I TOLD YOU I DON'T…WANT…FRUUUUIT!"

Me: "FIRST OF ALL, YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT A FRUIT! DADDY IS TRYING TO DO SOMETHING NICE, AND YOU'RE YELLING AT ME! STOP YELLING! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! NO YELLING!"

Oops.

When I'm tired, I break every rule in the book teaching adult about coping with tantrums. Really, if you look at the list one point at a time, I break them all. It's a catch-22; when dealing with a tired child, I should first evaluate my own level of fatigue. But, I'm so tired, I don't have the presence of mind to do it.

That, dear Reader, is what spouses are for! That is when it's time to call in support: "Sweetie, can you deal with her?" Hopefully, I have the presence of mind to put  on the mental emergency brake before my thought spins out of control: "Sweetie, can you deal with her before I load her into the Yard-a-pult and send her next door?!?!"

Eventually, things seem to work themselves out before bedtime – sometimes hers, sometimes mine. We take our break, eat our supper, shed our tears, and then put on our pj's. When evening settles in, and the house is once again quiet, I'm quickly reminded that she is a human being who has been on this earth for only four years; one Olympic cycle. All she knows is the last half-hour, and this moment. The future is a concept clouded by the emotion of the present, for better or for worse. By the time I head to bed I realize how fleeting the years are when I wake up to a little 4-year-old, in her kitty-cat pyjamas, with cowlicks of horned-hair searching for alien reception.