You’d think a six-day mini-holiday to the UK shouldn’t take six days to recover from, but somehow this whole week has been all about getting back into the swing of things.
The time difference and arriving back in Dubai on the milk flight at 5am meant the boys then slept until past midday, setting me up for a particularly trying problem in small children: INSOMNIA. The Scrooge of Christmas travel.
Because it’s not like you can just tell them to count sheep, is it?
No, no, that would be far too easy. Instead, for several nights, between the hours of 9 pm and 1 am, the boys pummelled me with all kinds of strange symptoms, from “I’m scared, stay Mummy, please!” to “I’m going to vomit!” (Son 1), singing for two hours straight (Son 2), hunger pangs and even sleep walking (Son 1).
Son 1 would have re-set much quicker if it wasn’t for the fact that Son 2 was adamant his insomnia should be shared.
“Are you AWAKE?” he’d bellow at his brother, nearly raising the roof of his bunk-bed (and I couldn’t separate them because they’re really dependent on each other and hate to sleep alone).
Then Son 2 got his hands on the duck clock in their room and set the alarm off: “QUACK, QUACK, QUACK, QUACK QUACK!”
I’m surprised you didn’t hear the racket going on in their bedroom.
DH was safely ensconsed on the other side of the world (in Australia and New Zealand) for the first two days of their nocturnal shenanigans. Happily, he returned on the third day, only to fall fast asleep at 8.30 pm with jet lag of the polar-opposite kind.
Oh the glamour of our jet-setting ways!