Quiet time. An hour or so, every afternoon, where I can clean, cook, bake, read, shower and relax. This window is something I fought so hard for, my son and I pitting our massive wills against one another. He, fighting for his right to decide whether or not he still needs a nap; me, fighting for my very necessary right to a break. It literally "just clicked" one day. We were engaged in our usual naptime routine, I had gotten him into bed and closed the door, only to have it open 30 seconds later. I braced myself for the confrontation I didn't want to have happen, and then something strange happened. My son went poop, wiped, flushed, washed up, and went back to his room.
He didn't even look my way. Surely if he can act that responsibly, I can let him decide what he wants to do about napping. I decided that on a trial basis we would have quiet time. The first three days were tough, he screamed in his room, he threw toys around, he tried escaping. My mantra was this: "ignore him as long as he is in his room*" followed by "stay calm, don't make eye contact," when he did leave his room. It has been one week, today, since I introduced this idea and we're both catching on.
Heck, it won't work every day and some days I do hope that he gets some extra sleep during that time, but for now this is working for us. In general, life around here is nice. My husband is hot and sweet, my kids are adorable and sweet, the sun is shining, my house is dirty, but because I am anal, no one could really tell but me. I am beginning to come to terms with those "negative" aspects of my personality and use them as best I can.
For the first time in too long, I have real hope.