"Sleep that knits up the ravel'd sleave of care."

And there, in my title, is Shakespeare. Specifically, Macbeth. It's been a while since I've taught sophomore English, but when I did, hoo boy, it was once a semester with the Thane of Cawdor. I love it when he talks about how important sleep is, and I would often get all emphatic reviewing that speech with the class. And that was even before I had kids. Sleep is even more precious now, of course. No one, not me, and not Macbeth, and not Mick Jagger, knows what we've got until it's gone.

[Two asides: First, I also recently recited Shakespeare to myself when I realized some new acne was on its way. Second, the episode of The Cosby Show when Theo and Cockroach just pass their Macbeth test with a cheat-y sort of study guide only to realize that Claire is going to give them her own, more rigorous exam? One of my absolute favorites. And to me, a parenting inspiration.]

Here's what. (Shout out to Andy Cohen.) Rudy and Marley are just not getting enough sleep. This morning, for example, they were bouncing around their room at five o'clock. They were, in one- to five-minute bursts, laughing, singing, and more often, screaming and crying at each other.

Rudy would sleep longer, I think, but Marley gets up so early because "Sleep is booooooring," and she's afraid she's missing out on the chance to read or draw or watch the Pink Panther, for crying out loud. And Rudy at least gets a nap every afternoon, and that kids conks out for an average of three hours regardless of what time she's gotten up. (I'm very fortunate, I know.)

But Marley thinks naps are for babies. (Even though her mommy, clearly not a baby, indulges in them every chance she gets.) And so recently we've established a new pseudo-rule. If Bean is up too early, and especially after she's gone to bed too late, and especially, especially if she's a whining, weeping, foot-stomping mess by lunchtime, she will go upstairs at naptime with Rudy. We did it on Wednesday, and she eventually gave in to a power nap, with positive results. She needs to get her sleep, see, because otherwise, she comes unravelled. See Shakespeare, above.

[Unrelated, but completely worth mentioning. Moments ago, while Bean and I were lounging on the couch and watching the start of the Celtics game, Marley asked if she could have a little bit of, and this is how she said it, "soda pop," before she brushed her teeth and went to bed. To start, soda pop is not our regionalism, and her calling it that is an indication of how rarely soda is in our fridge. I think she got that from Calvin and Hobbes, which Todd reads to her from an anthology, practically every night. But I picked up some Polar Half and Half (Thanks, Liz) after being entranced by the mysterious flavor (half grapefruit and half what?) at Will and Sam and Ben's birthday party last month. Anyhow, Rondo had the ball, and suddenly Marley burst out laughing. Here's what happened next.

Me, alarmed: "What? What's so funny?" And then, defensively: "Why are you laughing at Rondo?"

Marley: "It's not Rondo. I just thought of something funny."

Me: "What? What's funny?"

Marley, eventually, and laughing the whole time: "I was just thinking if I sneaked some extra soda pop and then ran away and then you were chasing me around the house and then I pressed a button that said extra fast or the fastest and then you couldn't catch me!"

I totally love that she's cracking herself up with imagined scenarios. This is Marley proving that she is Todd's and my child. One of our very first flirtations happened at a curriculum meeting when we collaboratively invented and then expanded upon a story involving our high school principal, an overturned bookcase of hardcover mysteries, and my explosive, "Who dunnit?!" and "I quit!" a la Christian Bale's "Oh, goooood for yooou!" I remember leaving that meeting and thinking, "Hmph. That Todd guy is pretty funny."

Also, this is proof that our lovely, bright, overtired Marley is watching way too many cartoons during which a button or some other sudden gadget, accompanied by a zippy, crashing sort of noise, helps Pink Panther, or Jerry, or Top Cat, make a hasty exit. Like so. I like to think that this is what she hears when she pictures me in the madcap pursuit of her and her soda pop.]