After this afternoon, it's possible that Santa dug out his good-girl list and attacked Lyla's name with white-out or possibly lye. Despite the positive behavior reports from Grandma and Grandpa, Lyla came home and unleashed her entire anti-nap arsenal. It was more than enough firepower to avoid the nap altogether, and also more than enough to drive her parents a notch or two closer to the asylum.
Hey, I know: let's have another baby!
Julie did not have any cinematic pregnant moments today, except for one dramatic monologue on my ineptitude in nap-related matters. I think it would've been better with thundering music in the background and a slow-motion zoom-in on the wild eyes and flying spittle, but maybe I'm more Tarantino and she's more Eastwood.
But Lyla's down to sleep now, thank goodness, for Julie got her to stay in bed after I failed yet again. My theory is that she used the Vulcan nerve pinch.
Hmm, I wonder which list I'm on.
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