Please tell me 30 months. I think that's more than fair.
Listen, it's not that my kids don't sleep. They may require some coaxing at nap time, and my daughter has more bedtime rituals than Wade Boggs at his most superstitious, but they fall asleep.
But, like the living dead, just because they were put down doesn't mean they stay down.
Case in point: Saturday night. While I volunteered at a fundraiser for my son's preschool*, my wife took the kids to a birthday party for our ex-babysitter Patty's kid. Now, a few weeks back, we went to a birthday party for one of Patty's elder kids. We knew what to expect: Peruvians party 'til late (no matter that the birthday girl was a toddler), cake wouldn't make an appearance until 8 or 9 PM at best, and with so many games and activities they kids would never want to leave. So after face painting, dances, sing-alongs, and enough food, chips, cake and candy to make Connor puke (literally), Janelle took the kids home.
Bedtime: 10:30 PM.
Granted, it was a 30 minute drive home. And the kids needed a scrub-down with makeup remover. But 10:30? That's at least 2 hours too late, maybe more.** My wife told me of the late tuck-in when I got home at 11, and I began to steel myself for Sunday morning when we'd deal with the unholy terror that is two sleep-deprived kids. But the telling comment from my wife was "maybe this means Claire will sleep in until 8 or so." I arched an eyebrow at that one. And I think I had the wisdom to keep my mouth shut and not comment. That, or I blurted my feelings on that being a pipe dream or crazy or some other ill-advised and not-so-pithy comment that was greeted with a judicious beat-down that I have wisely blocked out.
No matter. At 6:30, Claire emerged from her room, storybook in hand. crap-filled diaper around her waist. Now, the optimist would say "hey, she often gets up at 5:50, that's a good 40 minutes of extra sleep". The pessimist would take the soiled diaper, shove it down the optimist's throat, and try and sneak in one last REM cycle while his daughter struggled to amuse herself for an hour.
As my wife will tell you, I was the pessimist, as I buried my head under a few pillows and stayed in bed past 8. Yeah, not the most supportive I've ever been. Don't worry, though, the joke was on both of us - later that day, we took the kids into Manhattan to visit the Guggenheim. And if you've ever tried to deal with overly-tired kids around a mess of Modern Art that's protected only by small lines on the floor that intimate "please don't touch" - this, after letting them play with a participatory piece in the lobby that encouraged adding graffiti to a wall with crayons - you know the unique brand of hell that was Sunday morning.
* I'd like to say that my volunteering was me being more noble than my wife, but the event was called "Dads Can Cook", so unless Janelle got gender reassignment surgery, this was an event with my name on it. Oh, and I didn't volunteer so much as I was volunteered (shanghaied?) by my friend Victor. Aaaaand they had booze and a band, so torturous it wasn't.
** Unlike my wife, I would have packed up the kids and left by 7:30 or 8. Because I am a dick who puts bedtimes above my kids' enjoyment. Yes, this is why they will eventually rebel by partying all night as teenagers. Or, if they are more passive-aggressive, why they'll write tell-all books when I'm a retiree in Boca. Either way, there will be retribution, and I'll be on the receiving end of it.
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