World War 3(year-old)

The Russians could go ahead and attack, since our own little wolfette's near-constant cries sound like an air raid siren anyway.
It's simply exhausting, and I've only been experiencing it for seven days. I seriously don't know why Ainsley isn't in a bell tower somewhere shooting bystanders who don't look like they want to go to sleep, either.
Ryan's joined the bandwagon, as he didn't nap for the third straight day. His cold may have something to do with it, and we're still amazed that he stays in his bed for 2, 3 hours, yammering away, yawning loudly, singing songs, without getting up and working that doorknob thing or just pulling out a bunch of books or destroying his clothes hangars. But we'd still prefer just a smidgen of sleep from the lad. Tonight he was an unholy terror (for him), running around like a tornadic idiot, especially after finding a fifteen-foot-long strand of packing paper in an amazon.com box. Luckily, Erin was able to duck and weave for the most part, avoiding the dragon's tail, but still -- with all his carrying on, we're considering changing Ryan's name to the slightly less conventional but infinitely more appropriate Not In Her Face.