One of Life's little Ironies...

Last night, I went to bed early.
I had run around a lot yesterday (mostly my fault: I had to go to six different stores before I found a pair of snow pants that weren't size 3T--I needed a six) and I was exhausted. My hubby was determined to stay up into the wee hours watching the Australian Open (let's just say calling him a Tennis Freak is mild) so I went up to bed at 10:30 and fell promptly asleep.
Here's where the irony comes in: it seems that whenever I am bent on getting a decent night's sleep, all the elements combine to ensure that I don't. At least it seems that way!
Fast forward to Midnight, hubby comes up the stairs and he's celebrating because the person he wanted to win, did, and he wants to tell me about it. He's oblivious to my body language (back turned to him, in a fetal position, pillow over my head) and happily yacks away about how so-and-so plays so-and-so next and yadda yadda yadda yadda. UGH!!!
So, around 12:30 I try to fall asleep again. Ah, bliss.
1am. THUNK! Momeeeeeee! My four-year old, Thing Three, has fallen out of his bed, and with a rush of adrenaline known only to a mother in the middle of the night, I spring like a cat from my bed to go and save him.
Around 2am I finally fall back asleep, and at 2:30, my puppy (who has been awakened by the noise of Thing Three hitting the floor) is now awake and needs to go outside and pee.
I stumble down the stairs, cursing under my breath, and take him to the bathroom.
Of course afterwards he is now FULLY awake and wanting to play, but I rudely shut him in his crate and shuffle back upstairs.
I glance at the clock: 3am. UGH again. I wanted to get some sleep!
At 3:30, Thing Three (who apparently still hasn't fallen asleep from his earlier bed gymnastics) steals out of bed and enters my room and announces (quite loudly) in my ear that he has to "go pee-pee."
I groan and tell him to go, he doesn't need to tell me that he needs to go. Of course when he's finished, he wants to be tucked in once more, and by this time I'm hopping mad.
I collapse back into bed when the deed is done, and think "It's OK, I still have two more hours."

Nope. My puppy, Hagan, starts yelping for someone to come play with him. He yelps and yelps until my hubby mutters angrily "can't that dog be quiet? I'm trying to sleep!"

At this point I don't care, I go and yell at the dog to be quiet over the stair bannister. And of course I wake up my daughter, who needs a glass of water, and I give up all hope of getting a decent night's sleep.

My youngest is 4. I suppose in fourteen years I'll be able to sleep...

But I'm not holding my breath.