Day two, however, was the day I had been putting off for as long as I could.
Toddler beds.
Oh, how I had been dreading this day.
About six months ago, they began climbing out of their cribs, so we took out the springs and dropped the mattresses on the floor inside their cribs. This got us through until the week we moved.
Three o'clock in the morning three nights before the flight, Brock appeared at my bedside to tell me he could climb out of his crib. Great.
We had been considering purchasing cribs in the new house just to contain them because they do not go to sleep right away. They have "twin time." They talk and giggle and fight and throw everything (including sheets) out of their cribs for about an hour and a half before they finally fall asleep.
Come to think of it, I had actually forgotten about something that happened during "twin time" the week before we left until writing this post.
Brock starting yelling,"Get me outta here! Get me outta here!" after about an hour of twin time. I let him scream for about five minutes and then I went in to tell them to settle down and go to sleep because enough is enough.
In their room, I see that Brock is actually stuck in his crib with his little leg hanging through the bars at the end of his crib where it meets Braden's crib. They were having a little chat and he decided to sit down and stick his leg through and couldn't get it back out.
It is now so swollen, even I can't get it out.
I calm him down (he is beyond hysterical) and gently try to maneuver his leg back and forth for about five minutes until I realize there is no way I can possibly get it out.
I think of my options.
Husband? About 1000 miles away.
Neighbor? No one home.
Saw? Definitely not a viable option.
I hung my head in shame when I realized I had only one resort.
The fire department.
Even now I can't believe I had to call 911. The operator that answered didn't even know who to direct my call to because she had never heard of a problem like this before. Only Brock.
The calvary arrived and much to our delight, it was our own personal firemen. The crew we had developed a relationship with on our recent visits to the fire station to thank them for putting out the wildfires around our house. Both of them. Different story.
They were surprised and excited to see all of us and rescued Brock in no time at all. Two of them gently lifted him up and held him immobile while a third very carefully rotated his little leg and slid it out. He was so happy! He gave everyone hugs and knuckles.
Then all the kids got to go sit in the firetruck in their pjs. All in all a very exciting evening.
If all of these things weren't proof enough for me that their time in the cribs was up, I was dreaming.
Which brings us back to day two in the new house. Or rather night two.
It was a complete and utter nightmare.
"Twin time" went on for about three hours. I asked Tony just now how long and he said, "I don't know, decades?" It was worse than I could have ever possibly imagined.
We kept them up all day with the idea they would be extra tired and fall right to sleep. New beds, new Cars covers. Super cool.
They moved those beds all over the wood floor for hours! They threw their covers and pillows all over the room. We could hear their little feet scampering for the door and then hear it open. Then they would run back to bed and giggle. They would fight. At one point Brock was on top of Braden in his bed beating him. We hollered at them so much them night, I think I lost my voice the next day.
You would think they would sleep late right? Oh no, not our kids. Not when the sun comes up at 4:30!!!!!!!
Why did nobody tell my about the stupid sun coming up at 4:30 in the @$%^&* morning?!!!! That might have been a deal breaker.
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