They say that turkey is soporific. That the tryptophan found in the meat is the raw material for the synthesis of sleep-related serotonin, a neurotransmitter.
Who are “they” anyways? The scientists of the world? They obviously don’t have children
If that were true, my house would be dead quiet after a huge Thanksgiving meal like we had last night.
That, my friends, was NOT the case.
So I put to you, scientists of the world, this challenge. Come and prove your hypothesis at my house following a long day and an over-the-top turkey dinner.
In a perfect world, the hour and a half hike, bike riding extravaganza and turkey-laden dinner would all lead to perfectly exhausted children, yawning and stretching, asking at 7pm what time they can go to bed. Everyone would happily crawl into their pajamas, adamantly refuse a bedtime story, snuggle into bed and immediately close their eyes, welcoming the deep slumber that awaits them. This would leave the evening open for Hubby and I to curl up on the couch and watch the MLB playoffs in peace, sipping San Pelegrino contentedly.
I have given myself the night off from studying, in order to enjoy some quiet adult time.
We live in a madhouse, full of 7 year old attitude and 5 year old antics.
Turkey tryptophan hasn’t affected them at all.
Bathtime was the usual disaster. “I don’t want to get out” “Monster was in longer than me” “I don’t want a shower, I want a BATH” (anything to make it last just a little bit longer).
Monster demanded that I read his Train bedtime book. It’s a great book… the first time… but when you read the same story every single night it becomes a bit monotonous. Good thing he’s still young enough, he doesn’t notice when I turn 3 or 4 pages at a time. Yes, I’m a page jumper… don’t tell me you’re not, because you would be lying.
Teeth brushed, stop jumping on your bed.
No you don’t need to play your DS tonight, just get to bed.
Wrestle, wrestle…. boys are sooooo much fun.
FINALLY – everyone is in bed and I’m sitting on the couch. Dishes are done (thanks Hubby!), San Pelegrino poured, baseball game ON. As I sink down into the soft leather, I hear the faint squeak of a door opening…
“Mommy? I’m hungry.”