I’m going to confuse the archeologists

In the future, when I’m dug up from where ever I’m left (assuming my family is unable or unwilling to honour my wishes for cremation), future peoples are going to create rather fantastic assumptions about my life and demise.

Because having a softened flat spot on the back of my skull from repeatedly banging my head against the door frame and I wait and wait and wait and wait for a three-year old night owl to complete the simple task of going to bed isn’t going to make an interesting scientific theory.

The Magpie has been staying up until 10.  PM.  At night.

Granted, she slept in until 8:20 this morning, which was rather nice, but that does us no good on the average weekday when we have to be up at 6:30.  And yet, on weeknights, she still stays up until 10 PM.  The napless phase of last month is over (no kidding), but I much preferred it.  She was cranky by bedtime because she was getting tired, but she fell asleep.  Now she’s cranky at bedtime because she’s not tired and we’re trying to trap her in her room.

We’ve told her that she has to stay in her room and play quietly and that has, for the most part, alleviated the tears and temper.  But, for our part, one of us must sit outside her room on the stairs, laptop charged, until she falls asleep.

We are as trapped as she is.

And we are subject to repeated updates and queries that must be tactfully rebuffed and redirected.

Often, I find myself closing my eyes and tipping my head back to tap the door frame to the bathroom at the top of the stairs.

So, should I find myself in the business end of a skull x-ray one day, or the subject of facial recreation for some future forensic artist, they’re gonna be confused.

Unless they have three-year olds of their own.

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