It's 1230pm. If your names are Isabelle and Sebastian van der Meer, you will be in mama's MRV being hypnotized by what your mama affectionately call this barren strip of pavement: Sleep Street.
I actually have no idea what this street is called. I'll bet money it doesn't even have a name like many Doha streets. But what is DOES have are delightful divots in the pavement every 25 yards, a soft sway to the poorly smoothed surface, and at least a good mile distance before U Turning yourself around and driving it again.
This my friends has become my BFF for midday nap time. Call it efficiency or call it laziness. But gone are the days of juggling one grisly, too tired to sleep toddler because she was up at 1am needing to use the toilet, 3am because she wanted to watch Dora and 5am wanting breakfast, and a fussy - also tired - baby on my hip. There is no getting one down while the other is up to whatever anti-sleep antics and vice versa. And by the time I DO get one down, that one is sure to wake up by the time I finally get the other one down. Holy nightmare.
Aha! But that was before Sleep Street. I'll take 2 - sometimes up to 4 - rotations of traveling this magical street to get both kids nice and passed out so upon returning all I have to do is transfer these snoring bodies to their bed. THEN, I get maybe 10 minutes to write this post, drink my morning coffee (that turned cold so is now an iced-coffee), or just sit in silence. Much to my husband's aggravation, the only thing I refuse to do during this period, which can be anywhere from 5 minutes to 40, is sleep. I'm not superstitious (except maybe for this thing I have about the number thirteen), but dammit wouldn't you know if my head touches that pillow one of them for sure is waking up within minutes! So I refuse to go there. Instead I just enjoy the fact that I have a few minutes all to myself. Thank you Sleep Street.